


Coin Operated

by CerysKitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dehumanization, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Noncon tag is for the general AU this is set in and flashbacks of sorts, Past Drug Use, Past Forced Prostitution, Past Rape/Non-con, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerysKitty/pseuds/CerysKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Cybertron, where Constructed Cold mechs aren’t seen as living or sentient by those who are Forged, and as such are kept as slaves and expensive pets.</p><p>In this world, Ratchet grudgingly receives a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the kink prompt: tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=14238976#t14238976
> 
> So I know I have other stuff to finish off, but oh man this just came and bit me and I haven't been able to stop writing.
> 
> I'll be adding tags as I go, but I'll warn at the start of each chapter for anything especially bad or squicky. Mostly there's just going to be lots of alluding to awful things, but nothing explicitly horrible. I'm not using the archive warning for noncon, because it's /technically/ not, but it is all seriously dark and dubious as heck.
> 
> And yeah, I spent days trying to figure out a name, and just threw up my hands and went with Dresden Dolls in the end because I gave up. Anyone else having flashbacks to 2004 Quizilla or is that just me?

It was a rare day that Ratchet’s clinic was empty, and while of course that didn’t mean there wasn’t work to do, he was still making sure to enjoy the peace and time alone while it lasted. Focussing on organising his tools, cleaning and rearranging them, was a welcome break from fixing up mechs too poor and broken to seek alternative help.

Of course, the peace never lasted, and when he heard the ping from the opening door, he was halfway through to the main room when he recognised his friend’s voice trilling his name. It wasn’t every day that Pharma deigned to visit his run down little clinic, but it was a welcome surprise, and only added to his good mood.

Or at least, it did until he got to the doorway and froze solid.

Pharma was expected, his bright plating and relaxed posture was a nice sight to see when he had some time to take a break. Behind those gleaming wings however, was a frame somewhat worse for wear- predominantly white, or it might have been at some point, and clutching its broken arm to its chest. Medic coding rushed to the fore before he noticed the dim yellow optics and collar signifying it as nothing more than a drone, and despite his coding settling, he still glared at Pharma, wordless for the moment as he waited for an explanation.

“Well don’t look to happy to see me, will you?” Pharma took Ratchet’s annoyed expression in his stride, and waltzed into the room to lean against the med-berth closest to his friend. “I even brought you a _gift_.” And he gestured in the vague direction of the drone by the door, and Ratchet’s glare turned into a grimace.

“A gift? You’ve known me for vorns, and the best thing you can come up with is one of those things?” Pharma knew he didn’t like the drones, knew how much he hated their near-indistinct similarities to real cybertronians, to the point that they creeped him out. He gave the battered frame another once over, tutted and went to collect a couple of cubes of high grade. He handed one over before settling to lean against the desk opposite his friend. “I hate to ask how much you paid for it, given it looks about a step away from the scrapheap.”

Pharma just grinned coyly into his cube.

“Well, I _did_ get it at a startlingly cheap price. Needs a bit of fixing up, which of course you’re just _wonderful_ at. It seems its rather extensive list of previous owners liked to use it hard. Think I paid just a fraction over its scrap value to be honest.” Pharma beckoned the drone over with a finger, and it shuffled quickly to kneel at his feet. “It’s not an amazing model, but it’s pretty enough in the face and I know you like those racer frames you see whizzing around on the tracks.” He reached down to tilt the drone’s face up, letting Ratchet see for himself the dim optics, scuffed lips and at least a dozen other visible signs of poor maintenance and abuse. Beneath all of that though, it _was_ pretty, and if it’d had a real spark Ratchet might have found it attractive. As it was, it just made his tanks roil.

“The frag use do I have for a broken, and apparently useless pice of junk?” He knew he shouldn’t have asked with the way Pharma leered at him and dragged his fingers down to cup the drone’s face.

“You’ve been getting tetchier and more miserable now that you’re not fragging your way through half the university. And I know you’re not picking up anyone in bars these days, because I know you’re not even _going_ to them. You work too hard, with this ridiculous little shop on top of your duties to the Prime, so if I can’t convince you to come socialise, I might as well find a way to get you laid.”

“I don’t need-”

“You’re driving me nuts Ratchet, and as your professional equal, I’m here to tell you that if you don’t zap off some charge soon, you’re going to explode, you and I both know this.” He tugged the drone to standing by its audial. “Use it as an assistant or something as well if you want, it’s not like I care.”

“You might not care where you stick your spike, but I’m not desperate enough to use a drone just yet.”

“Oh please, it’s better than those toys I know you liked to use.” The leer never left his face. He kept fiddling with the drone, making it turn this way and that, petting over its aft as if to somehow entice Ratchet. “I tried it out anyway and it’s alright. Someone did a number on its spike, but the valve’s tight enough to keep you going until you either get a real lover or fancy an upgrade.” He just laughed when Ratchet spluttered into the last dregs of his drink. “It cleaned itself before we came out and anyway, it’s not like we’ve never exchanged fluids before.”

Ratchet just shook his head, and collected and dumped their cubes into the sink to clean later. Settling back a bit more comfortably, he crossed his arms and gave the drone a scan, tutting when the readings came back.

“I don’t know on what level this counts as ‘a little bit of work’. Aside from that broken strut, it needs a completely new fuelling system, half its joints replaced, and the rust is so widespread under the plating that it’d be easier just to rip it all off and start from the bottom up.” He made a face. “And I cannot believe you stuck your spike into it, primus that array has to be made of more welds and patches than actual lining.”

Pharma just shrugged, gave his best attempt at a normal smile and patted the drone on the aft again.

“What can I say, I wanted to at least use it once before you rejected it to the scrapheap or something. Anyway, I did actually come here for a reason, other than to apparently make your life harder. I’m moving over to Vos. Got a job offer I couldn’t refuse etcetera etcetera. And I get to look at all the pretty seekers I could ever want.”

Pharma never changed, but Ratchet’s optic brightened in genuine surprise and happiness for his friend at the news. He knew he’d been looking to leave Iacon for a while now, and though Vos was near impossible to get into, clearly his flight-frame and seeker heritage was working for him.

“That’s great, I’m really happy for you!” He was, and grabbed Pharma into a hug to show it. “If you’d given me some warning, I’d have bought some better high grade.”

“Yes well, it was a surprise but I’m happy about it. Might be able to make a name for myself now, instead of living under your shadow.” The jab was friendly, though Ratchet agreed with the sentiment. “Anyway, I can’t take this thing with me. So take it and use it, or just sell it for scrap, it’s a gift so you can do what you want with it.”

Ratchet’s mouth twisted into a grimace again. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t going to let it continue to disrupt his mood, especially when he wanted to hear all about Pharma’s new position. He’d figure out what to do with the drone once Pharma left, in the meantime he rummaged at the back of his store for some hopefully fancier energon.

They ended up chatting a while, getting through several more cubes of energon, both high and mid grade, as they exchanged stories and gossip. At some point Pharma instructed the drone to fetch the cubes, and Ratchet had to admit it was nice not needing to get up.

Eventually though, Pharma had to leave, told Ratchet he’d send the ownership details to his main console at home, and then finally shot into the air, with only a slight wobble.

It was barely mid afternoon, and while Pharma was happy to get a little tipsy in the middle of the day, Ratchet had managed to pace himself and was practically sober. He turned, ready to get back to his piles of non-essential work, before he was confronted with the sight of the drone, still standing where it’d been left after Pharma had pushed it away.

Right. Well, if he didn’t have anything urgent to do, he might as well fix it up. Maybe if he got it working properly again, he might actually get some half decent money if he sold it on, or he could trade it in to the right person and get a favour perhaps. That was a bit further down the line though.

“Get on the berth. Lie down.” The drone did exactly as asked, and unlike any of his patients, didn’t argue. Maybe this would be good for him; once he got over his distaste, it might be nice to have someone who did what they were told and didn’t argue. He tugged the broken arm over, and started peeling back the plating to inspect inside. “What’s your designation anyway?”

“As my master, you are entitled to call me whatever you wish.” It was the first time the drone has spoken, and Ratchet was pleased to hear it at least had a nice enough voice, even if the vocaliser could do with a tune up.

“I’m not the imaginative sort. What were you called when you were brought online?” Its optics faded, perhaps accessing a long gone memory, but they brightened when it spoke.

“My original designation was Drift, master.”


	2. Put to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While I was cleaning, Tim Minchin's 'Inflatable You' came on, and I cried at how perfect, but utterly /wrong/ that would be for a fic title.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of cannibalism, abuse, eating transfluid? and forced drug use, though it's nothing explicit.

Repairing the drone… Wasn’t overly hard, but like Pharma said, it was a project to keep his hands occupied, and _technically_ it wasn’t work so it should be relaxing.

Should be anyway.

“What fuel have you been on most recently?” The drone, Drift he guessed he should start calling it, rubbed its newly fixed arm and looked bizarrely hesitant. “Your self repair is shot to pieces, and it’s likely because of poor quality energon.” He didn’t need to explain himself to a drone of all things, but it was hard once in ‘medical mode’ to not fall back on habit and routine. He tinkered with the fuel tank anyway. It, along with most of its systems, were going to need to be replaced. A quick fix could work, but he’d rather not have to redo the job again six months down the line.

He frowned when he didn’t receive an answer, and looked up to see Drift hesitating to speak, its lips moving but no sound coming forth. Frag but this was clearly some sort of bargain bin drone if it had trouble like this.

“I… Most recently, I have been receiving drone grade fuel.” Which would have been fine, but didn’t explain the long-term corrosion he was seeing.

“And previously? Give me the whole list, starting backwards.” It hesitated again, shuttered its optics but eventually spoke, even if its voice hitched a couple of times, and Ratchet upped sorting out its vocaliser on the priority list, because like pit was he going to put up with listening to that grinding static every time it found it hard to come up with words.

“Before… Before that, my master fed me a cube of drone fuel once… Once every few orns. Aside from that he fed me direct… I drank his transfluid, or he would let me feed from…” its voice had switched to the dull monotone he usually associated with drones, but Ratchet didn’t really notice, too busy snarling at that mech’s idiocy. The drones might have had fake sparks, but their frames were Cybertronian enough, even if they were vastly inferior in quality most of the time. The drone fuel kept most types functional, whilst transfluid of all things, with such a ridiculously low charge of energy, would perhaps keep a mech from offlining, but it wouldn’t be good for much else.

“What was that idiot’s name, in case I ever run into him in the street?” He unbolted a rusted screw with more force than necessary, and just tutted when the drone’s frame flinched. Broken, and apparently overly sensitive to boot, just his luck.

“…Turmoil, master.” He’d never heard of him, though that didn’t count for much, but he’d keep an eye out, mostly to make sure he avoided him. A mech who thought it was fun to starve a drone in such a way was usually the sort who wanted to do it to living mechs, and eventually there was going to be trouble, if there wasn’t already. A lot could be said for the drones allowing people to unleash their darker impulses, but eventually most of them wanted to move on to the real thing, and there was always a story in the news of some isolated freak going on a rampage or abducting and murdering fellow forged mecha. 

“Mmhm, and what else has this tank had to digest?” He stood up and moved across the room to collect all the parts he’d need, namely enough to build an entire new minibot frame from scratch. If the drone proved useful enough, he thought as he rummaged through a box of spare parts, he could at least put him to work sorting out this junk. Most of the supplies he had to use were donations from scrap yards or the morgue- as much as he earned in his day job, he couldn’t single handedly support the entirety of Rodion alone, and most mechs with more survival sense than morals didn’t care if the parts they got were second hand, as long as it got them back to working order. Unfortunately, such pieces never arrived in the pristine condition he was used to at the university or hospital, and sorting through and cleaning was a job that could take whole weeks if he wanted to do it properly.

Maybe Pharma was right. An assistant would be a boon, and at least he didn’t need to pay the drone in shanix or experience. And, he thought as he inspected a somewhat better than usual quality energon pump, the drone wouldn’t back chat, which was always a plus with his increasingly short temper.

“…I’ve drunk from a mech’s lines before.” And Ratchet nearly dropped the spool of tubing he’d reached to pick off a shelf. “And a previous master liked to feed me syk, and other drugs I don’t know the name of. I’ve had high grade a couple of times. And I had an energon treat once.” 

Utterly disgusting, and Ratchet was honestly surprised the drone had managed to survive. He dumped the materials on the trolley next to the berth, and started on the fuel pump and main energon lines first, cutting and replacing quickly and efficiently. Were it a forged mecha, he’d induce stasis and connect him to an external pump, but Drift’s lines were so empty as it was, he was easily able to clamp, cut, and reattach before the drone probably even noticed it.

Given its appalling maintenance and treatment, he was going to have to replace its entire fuel system. The main lines were simple enough, but at some point he’d have to drag it up to the hospital on one of his days off, and stick it in a CR chamber to fix up the micro lines in the fiddly places like its processor and fingers. He could technically do it here, but he only had so much time. He also might as well make use of the facilities he practically owned, and it would be a good way to finish off the integration of the new plating and other systems it would need. Until then however…

“I once fixed up a drone after its master had given it circuit boosters. It a common thing?” Clamp, cut, replace. The work was dull and routine, and he was finding Drift’s history much more interesting.

“No master. Most don’t waste such expensive products on drones.” He hesitated before speaking again. “My owner… He liked to see what they’d do, to the frame. He dealt them out to others but made sure to test them first. That… It was me you treated, that time.”

And frag but it was, once Ratchet pinged the full serial code held in the collar. The drone he remembered back then… Was beaten up, but had been nothing compared to what was currently lying on his table. Even at the time he’d wondered why the owner had even bothered bringing it in, but clearly it was a favoured test subject or something.

“Sounds like you’ve had a pit of a time since.”

“…Yes master.” From then on, Ratchet worked in more or less silence, only occasionally mumbling to himself and receiving a quiet answer. 

* * *

“So what can you do?” Drift was repaired, to a point anyway. Over ninety percent of its fuel system had been replaced, and he was lucky enough to find a half decent tank and converter, so it might even be a little more energy efficient now. Every rusted screw or bolt had been swapped out, and vorns worth of gunk had been cleared from areas he didn’t even know could get dirty. A quick oil to everything and it was a good days work.

It stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, missing plating in more than a few places, but Ratchet could only do so much. He’d have to bring in extra material from home to finish the job, but it wasn’t exactly urgent. The drone, despite its patchy appearance, was in better working condition than it probably had been in vorns, and though Ratchet still wanted to replace a couple of struts, and should probably replace its entire interface array, the rest of the job was simply to swap out all its plating for something a little more hard wearing, and perhaps a little more to Ratchet’s taste. By the time he was done with it, it might actually be worth the energon it consumed.

“I’ve mostly been used in the berth. Sometimes I was used to run errands and for general help around the home and my alt mode is quite fast, bit not enough to compete with.” Right. So actually _useless_ then. 

“Did you get the downloads to read and write? If you’re going to earn your keep, I need an assistant, not a run down berth warmer.” When the drone nodded, he beckoned it over to his desk. “Read the first sentence on these pads. They’re just medical journals but I want them in order of the dates they were published, can you do that?” Another nod, and Drift promptly stood to the side of the desk and started sorting them when Ratchet waved for him to get on with it. It was hardly an important task, but at least it would give him an idea of what he was working with. If it could organise well enough, he could just set it to tidying and organising records and supplies at the clinic, and perhaps his home as well. If it was smart enough to teach basic anatomy, he could get it to clear up those crates of parts and junk. Hope was on the horizon for a slightly more stress free job.

While the drone got on with that, Ratchet started clearing up his workstation. It was surprising not to have any patients come by for the day, but not unheard of, so at least there wasn’t much else to do before he could head home for the night. The clinic was open again tomorrow, but for several days after that he was due to lecture at the university and look over a few mechs in the Prime’s entourage. He wasn’t looking forward to having to mingle with the upper echelons of society, but he wanted to eat and keep running this shanty of a clinic, so he’d grin and mingle in the evenings, and get drunk enough so that in the morning when he had to look at another senator’s pristine frame, he could justify charging an extortionate rate just to tighten some bolts.

When he was eventually done cleaning and grumbling to himself, he took a look over at Drift and was pleasantly surprised to see most of the journals had been sorted. He walked over, picked a handful off the top of the pile and was even more pleased that they were in order. At least he could rest easy tonight then, knowing he hadn’t completely wasted his time and resources on just fixing up an overpriced interface toy.

“This is good, keep it up. I’m going home for the night, and I’ll be locking the door from the outside. Once you’re finished with that, use the washracks to clean yourself up, and then recharge. It’s important that you keep your frame clean if you’re staying here.” Another ‘yes master’, and Ratchet was happy it understood. From the bottom of the desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a cube of medical grade energon. The slight greenish glow repulsed most mechs, though the drone seemed almost enchanted by it. “For now, you get one cube of medical grade a day, until your frame’s back in order. After than, you’ll be on mid grade. I need you functional, not barely online.”

Another nod, and then it hesitated again, and he _really_ needed to check its processor if it kept that stalling up.

“Do you wish for me to pleasure you?” He almost wanted to smack his face with his own hand, or maybe clip the drone on the audial. He managed to restrain himself though. Overpriced interface toy indeed.

“Even if I _was_ inclined to stick my spike in you, your valve’s in such a poor state it’d feel disgusting.” It slowly nodded again, looked confused but it was too late in the day for Ratchet to care. He instead pushed the cube towards it. “Drink this, wash up, then recharge. I’ll be back in the morning.” And with that he promptly walked out the door, locking up before transforming to tear home to enjoy the rest of his evening.

* * *

In the morning, the clinic was exactly as he’d left it, save for the neat stack of pads on the desk and the newly clean drone standing in the corner. It actually scrubbed up well enough, though Ratchet could see more than ever that what little remained of his plating was going to need to be replaced. That was fine though; when he’d gotten home, he’d found Pharma had indeed sent the drone’s ownership details to his home console, and with that he had its full specs so ordering a full set of new plating was fairly simple. Toss his own ID number and political status into the form, and he was gifted a freebie crate of surplus stock, next day delivery, and an invitation to the company executive’s get together later in the year. He’d go to that one- the company was one of the nicer ones, with a better ethos than most and he knew the company director’s mentee from university.

Perhaps, if Drift was fit to be seen outside by then, he’d take him along, show off what he did with their products, and maybe get some more ‘freebies’ as a congratulations/thank you/whatever. The social and political games were tedious, but Ratchet knew how to work them to his advantage, and he was always keen to gather up any support he could get for his ‘little side project in the slums, oh those poor mechs, here take some donations, oh but have you tried the imported energon from Vos yet?’. Rich idiots, the lot of them.

“Drift. On the berth.” Back in the present, it was eerily easy to get used to the drone following his commands like that, and the feeling of unease slipped back from where he’d managed to subdue it. It took less work than yesterday to squash it back down. “I want to check everything integrated correctly, and then I’m probably going to have patients coming today. Don’t talk to them, unless I give you permission.”

“Yes master.” And that didn’t sound as jarring as it had yesterday either. Clearly there was a reason everyone who could afford it had one of these, though Ratchet would wait until later to examine his rapidly changing opinions.

“I’ve got replacement plating arriving tomorrow too. I won’t be here, so when it’s delivered, you’ll open the door, sign for it under my name, and lock the door afterwards. Understand?”

“Yes master.” He mumbled a ‘good’, caught up as he was checking lines and connections, but everything seemed fine, and with the medical grade helping things along, it’d be ready for the full frame overhaul when he got back from his other duties.

He dismissed the drone to his make shift office, gave it a list of things to work through and got on with his day.

With the drone cleaning and reorganising, he had enough extra time on his hands that he managed to check through some medical notes before his first drop in arrived. Broken optic, easy to replace and then the mech was on his way. Next up, mech who’d cracked the plating across her back in a fall, and in such a place that she couldn’t fix it herself. Also easy, quickly done and she was gone. Another, and another, and between each one he checked up on Drift to find it working steadily through the list of tasks, and then it was suddenly the end of the day, and for once he didn’t feel over stretched or tired. 

He glanced over to where Drift was sweeping up some dust someone had trekked in. It was startling how quickly he got accustomed to its presence and the ease he already had with it doing all the little menial tasks for him, and while thinking too hard about the fake spark in its chest made him feel nauseous, he was quickly learning to appreciate having it around.

When it finished, and realised that Ratchet was staring, it quickly came over, head bowed and clearly awaiting the next instruction, though Ratchet couldn’t think of anything more for it to do.

“I think that’s everything. I’m not coming back for three days. While I’m gone, accept that parcel. I’m leaving out three cubes for you. Keep yourself and the clinic tidy, but otherwise don’t touch anything.”

“Yes master.”

Though perhaps he’d better spend some time later working on its vocabulary list.


	3. Almost Good as New

One party down, and thankfully no more to go. Except perhaps for the ones he was invited to at this one. Ratchet shook his head, and reached to his side table to grab his drink. He used to be famous for his partying, and admittedly his willingness to jump into anyone’s berth, but apparently when you got anywhere in your career you weren’t allowed to go to the fun parties anymore, and none of the mechs at the dull ones even had the good graces to be intelligent or attractive.

Pharma joked that work was eating up his social life, but it was more that he was using work as an excuse not to socialise with people he could barely stand to look at, let alone be around.

The Vosian was nice though, and he lay back and pondered on him for a bit, testing to see if he was up for some self-induced overloads, or if the sheer amount of high grade he’d consumed was about to send him into recharge on the sofa. Red plating and beautiful white wings, and flanked by two others who were equally as attractive, though not so confident. He was intelligent too, some sort of scientist, and Ratchet didn’t mind admitting that he’d spent most of the party trying to keep up in a conversation about some sort of new energy source. Now though, he daydreamed about the thrusters and those chest turbines, and tried to imagine those wings spread beneath him as he maybe drove into the seeker.

Not even a tingle. 

He sighed and downed the rest of his cube. It was bad enough that he’d been given a drone to use, but it was even worse if he couldn’t even get himself going enough for a quick overload before he hit the berth.

Or maybe he’d just stay where he was, his legs weren’t in a cooperative mood anyway.

Now that he was thinking about it though, he idly wondered how the drone had been getting on. What exactly do pretty, mindless machines get up to in their free time?

Thankfully, his portable console was on the side table too, and with an undignified grunt, and some frankly ridiculous twisting, he managed to grab it and switch it on. A few taps later, and he had access to the clinic’s security system- probably the only thing of real of worth in the entire place if he were honest.

And there he was, his own beaten up little interface toy-cum-personal cleaner, just standing offline in the corner. Which had to be as uncomfortable as it was dull to watch, and with another heavy sigh Ratchet dropped the tablet to his chest, grumbling over what his drunken mind thought of as lost entertainment.

Maybe he could go fetch it… Its valve was wrecked, but it still had a mouth.

And when his interface array started stirring, Ratchet knew it was time to shut down those thoughts and roll over into a forced recharge.

* * *

Waking up hungover with a stiff frame from sleeping on the sofa was a bad way to start the day. Doubly so if he then had to drag his sorry aching frame to a university to lecture monied idiots on the benefits of actually reading some research papers. Half were only still on the course because their guardians had nothing better to spend their money on anyway, and he’d already picked out the small handful of mechs who’d actually go somewhere, and loaded them up with research and papers to read. For practical experience, he’d handed them off to the university hospital, and as far as he was concerned he didn’t really need to see them again until the next year, when he could actually teach them something worth knowing.

Like how to replace a drone’s entire fuel system with second hand parts perhaps?

Pharma loved giving lectures, loved to hear the sound of his on voice and make sure people were listening to his expertise. As soon as he was able, Ratchet had started making him do his as well, under the guise of experience, but alas his student had become his equal, and flown the coop so to speak.

In the now, Ratchet opened up to his audience for questions, answered the one decent one, told the dumb ones to frag off and read a book, and then he was on his way back to his apartment, ready for yet another drink.

But even approaching his living district was annoying him today. Paid for by the government, because the Prime’s medic wasn’t allowed to live down in a modest housing district like a normal mech, it was gaudy and huge, and he knew for a fact that Weird Stuff happened up in the penthouses above him, by mechs too rich to care about any consequences. He quickly squashed that thought down though, and tried to think of more enjoyable things.

Like the gaggle of nobles and senators he’d have to treat tomorrow, because apparently being friends with the Prime meant you didn’t need to bother with any of the other fully qualified medics in Iacon, it had to be him and his ‘blessed’ hands. Stupid fraggers, the lot of them.

* * *

“Stupid fraggers, the whole fragging lot of them!” Ratchet kicked his door the second it was shut, and let lose a series of more violent curses, kicking at the door with each one until he wore himself out and slumped against it instead.

Political unrest, they’d told him. Forged mechs in the slums were starting to cause problems, abducting and destroying the drones who they saw as putting them out of jobs. It was a fair statement, Ratchet thought, but it meant that no matter how nicely he’d smiled, wheedled or manipulated, none of the pretentious afts he’d had to see today were inclined to offer him favours, especially not favours to do with fixing up those very same guttermechs who were destroying prized property.

He’d seen the price tag once, for one of the all round perfect drone models the senators liked to show off. A little more than thrice his vornly wage, and that was just to cover the cost of finding such an elusively good fake spark. The high end frames, with all their organic and off-world decorations, would probably send him into spark arrest if he ever saw the price.

It had only taken one of them to go missing, presumed melted down for scrap, and all niceties and ‘oh the poor dears’ were off.

He was so, _so_ glad that tomorrow he could pretend none of them existed, and just do what he was forged for, for a blissful few days at least.

* * *

The sight of his clinic was almost enough to put a smile on his face as Ratchet rolled up outside, more than ready to get back to the mind numbing work of fixing minor injuries. Though he was almost excited to start work on making Drift presentable too, at least outwardly. 

The door opened, and he heard a soft ‘good morning master’ from where Drift was stepping out of its corner, and he nodded to it, pleased that it was looking even healthier for the three days of rest and good fuel.

“Did you collect the order okay?” He could see it, both crates neatly side by side over by his desk.

“They were surprised to see me master, but gave it to me when they pinged and got your ownership details.” It motioned towards its collar and Ratchet nodded absentmindedly. Pretty standard- the collars served as a visible identifier along with the yellow optics (when drones these days looked like real mechs, it was crucial that the distinction could be made at a glance), and as a handy, ping-able ID tag, uploaded by law with the master’s details, and any other information the owner seemed fit to include.

He honestly didn’t really care though, as long as his supplies were dropped off all right.

Grinning to himself, he rubbed his palms together, and then started to pry open the closest crate, waving Drift over to help when it was harder than he anticipated. Inside, stacked neatly, were different sizes of all-purpose frame plating. Clearly offcuts, but this supply would keep him going for ages if he was only repairing small areas. Slotted neatly down the side, were a variety of tools and bits and bobs, including optics lenses and replacement glossas of all things. As feebies went, it was a pretty good haul, and it only made him more excited to pull open the next crate.

With a soft grunt, and help from the drone, the lid was pried off, and they both got their first look at what was to be Drift’s new frame. Packed neatly, the mostly white plating was hidden under protective films, and as he started pulling the pieces out and inspecting them, he realised they were a much better grade than the stuff he’d ordered and he mentally flagged that company party up as Definitely Going. Maybe the director thought he needed it for some senator rather than a drone, but it wasn’t like he was going to call him up and complain.

“Right then, stand by that berth on the far side.” He had some time before he opened properly, so he could at least get Drift properly stripped down and cleaned before he had anything else to deal with.

Once Drift was in position, he wasted no time in stripping off the last few patches of armour, including the dented mess he was using as a helm. He cleaned as he went, scraping out yet more grime and blasting dust out with compressed air, and by the time he’d finished at the helm, the door was opening to admit his first sheepish patient of the day.

“Get on that berth over there, I’ll be with you in a second.” A final swipe and the drone was good to go. “As for you,” he pulled out a clean tarp, and threw it around the drone’s head, pulling it tight at the front. It looked ridiculous. “Sit here, and don’t get dirty.”

The drop-in patient was an easy fix- shattered optic, in an common and easy to replace red. On his way, and Ratchet had enough time to grab a swig of energon before the next one came in. Bent wingtip of all things, and the mech was just too cowardly to wrench it back into place himself.

His screech of pain made the drone flinch, though Ratchet had expected it and just shoved him out when he was done wailing.

And then there was enough time to get Drift lying down, and his new pedes attached before someone else was at the door.

It was a constant stream of people, and Ratchet worked on patients and Drift throughout the day, somehow managing to attach most of its new plating before he shut up shop. He was so close though, he was staying until it was done, and told the drone as such, not that it cared.

A couple more hours ticked by, and he was ready for the final part, the new helm, and with a few snaps, and some discrete welds he was done. Job complete. Pretty new drone unlocked.

“Stay where you are, and don’t move until I tell you tomorrow that you can.” He wandered over and grabbed a cube for both Drift and himself, and admired his work as the drone drank small sips from its cube.

Frag but he’d done a damn good job. He’d kept the main silhouette, namely those audial fins which he quite liked, but lost the rounded cheek panels for something blockier and more to his own tastes. Blocky grey and white mismatched plating had been exchanged for a rather scandalous full white, though he was inclined to add some detailing in some places. Overall, the look was sleeker, better fitting of his alt mode, and just generally nicer to look at.

He looked a bit longer. Definitely, maybe red details- he _was_ a medic’s assistant after all.

“Looks good, and knowing my own work, it’ll integrate well and you’ll be back on your feet tomorrow. Until then, recharge and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night master.” And he just nodded, already halfway out the door.

* * *

He was right, the plating went on flawlessly, and he had a few moments of fun peeling off the last few strips of protective plastic before he set Drift to working again.

Another routine day, another ten or so mechs to see and sort out. One had to stay overnight for a fixed ankle strut to settle, but aside from that it was normal, monotonous work, and he loved every minute of it.

“-Doc? You hearing okay?” Well, he loved it until he was startled out of his thoughts anyway.

“What?”

“Weren’t important. Just sayin’ your drone looks nice is all. Shiny and white like that, s’not often you see much shiny white aft round here.” Said drone had disappeared into the other room for some reason, but Ratchet paid it no mind, already pottering about doing his own odd jobs and ignoring his patient’s ridiculous leer.

“Thanks, it’s a project.”

“You should get it a new collar though, that one looks manky as anythin’. Brings the whole look down.”

“Mmhm.” The mech had a point, but Ratchet wasn’t really in the mood for a conversation at the time, and especially not to tell such an annoying brat that he was right.

“Tsk, I know what I’m talkin’ about. My brother’s an artist, I’ve picked up a few bits and pieces y’know?” Ratchet watched him wave his hands around a bit, clearly unable to talk with some form of gesture. “Red one’d look nice, and as for a paintjob… Yellow on the helm, matches the optics, and like, yellow elsewhere too to bring it together. Then red detailing everywhere, but not much y’know? Black’d look good too in some places…” He kept talking, and Ratchet thankfully managed to drown him out.

He did start wondering about Drift though, as it’d been gone a while, so after telling his patient to shut up and recharge, he went looking.

And there it was, wiping very ineffectively at an ingrained stain, which would probably need acid to remove.

“You keep trying to clear that up, and you’ll be here for vorns. Come on, get your cube so I can run off home and get away from that idiot’s prattling.”

The drone was slow to put down the cloth though, and even slower to move. Instead, it stopped in front of Ratchet and stared at the ground.

“Master would you… Now that I’m attractive to you, do you want me to pleasure you?” It kept talking before Ratchet could utter more than a sigh. “If my valve is unwanted, then I can use my mouth?” And it was too late in the day to be dealing with this again, _especially_ when he gave the drone a once over and his array had the audacity to stir a little.

“I’m not fragging a drone, primus let me never get that desperate. You’re going to have your fuel, and recharge, and I’m going to do the same in my miserable ‘little’ flat.” The drone didn’t move. “What-”

“Master… The mech in there, is he allowed to touch me? I’m sorry, I don’t know your rules for such things.” It was actually a fair enough question.

“No. You’ve cost too much and taken up too much of my time for you to get broken again by some idiot touching what isn’t theirs.” Drift nodded and seemed to settle some, and actually moved when Ratchet nudged it towards the door. “Here, I’ll update your ID ping.” No sooner did he add lines ‘Do not touch. Not for public use.’ to the collar’s info, than his patient huffed and grumbled from his berth.

“Aww, I was hopin’ there might be some evenin’ entertainment.” And Ratchet just pushed a cube into Drift’s hands before rounding on him.

“You touch it, then not only am I going to bill you the clean up and maintenance cost to get rid of any trace of you, I’m going to kick your aft so hard, you’ll have a footprint on it for the next hundred vorns!” Perhaps not his best warning, but it did the job, though he made sure to induce a forced recharge in the mech before he left, and if he found even so much as a fingerprint on Drift tomorrow, then someone would be losing some fingers.

 


	4. A Change in the Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more prewritten chapter after this, and then it's back to waiting for me to churn this thing out.
> 
> Also 90% of editing this is trying to find the places where I messed up and referred to Drift as 'he' rather than 'it', so hey if you spot anything like please for the love of god tell me so i can fix it D:

Over the next several weeks, he settled into a routine; work at the clinic, fiddle and tune up parts of Drift, work at his real job to fund his ‘hobbies’, rinse and repeat. Sometimes there was a lot of high grade in there as well.

He’d even managed to get a half decent replacement interface array for the drone, though after it was installed, and he’d visually checked it had integrated properly, Drift seemed even quieter if that was possible. At some point he needed to test it out, make sure it responded correctly and the like, but even the thought brought back his disgust at the things.

Though perhaps he was even more disgusted with himself, and the fact that the thought of having his fingers in the drone also brought a burst of arousal with it. It made sense- he _had_ made it into something he found attractive after all, but seekers would walk in mud before he went down that lonely and pathetic path.

Primus he needed a break, though he was almost certain even thinking too hard about a holiday might send him into shock.

But regardless of his dull, if busy schedule, sometimes it changed up a little bit more, and the shift was both startling and a breath of fresh air.

“I’m doing some minor surgery on the Prime next week, so I’ll be closing up here until it’s over- the last thing I need is everyone whining that I’m getting distracted and not taking his ‘ailment’ seriously enough.” Ratchet was wandering around the clinic, packing anything he thought he might need for the week into his subspace. “You might as well come home with me, primus knows you’ve cleaned up here well enough that there’s nothing left to do.” It was true. Daily cleaning had rejuvenated the place, and though there were still some crates to sort out, Ratchet didn’t trust the drone’s knowledge of anatomy yet to let it work on that unsupervised.

So he might as well set it to work on his bomb site of a home office.

“While I’ve got you near to the hospital as well, gonna set you up in a CR chamber for the day, fix up those final tiny problems and make sure your alt mode’s compatible with your new frame.” He dallied over which journal probably had the best information, then just shrugged and subspaced them both.

That would probably do it. He motioned to Drift to turn off the lights in the other room and then went to wait for it outside. He didn’t want the drone transforming just yet, not until it’d been in CR and the plating was sure to fit together correctly. It was a nice evening anyway, and it would be nice to enjoy it with company, even if that company wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Stay close to me.”

“Yes master.”

* * *

It was a nice walk, especially once they got out of the slums, though Ratchet would sooner share the walkway with a thousand empties, rather than the middle class mechs who kept eyeing up his drone and then himself. He couldn’t even tell if they approved or not, though maybe they were just gossiping about  _just how close_ Drift was keeping to him. It was almost hard to move, but though Drift was constantly near his elbow, it never actually got in the way, so Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to complain.

Throughout the lower district, Drift had kept its optics down, hunched in on itself, which was probably a good survival tactic for surviving down there without rank to protect it. As soon as they passed the security checks into the upper levels though, and it couldn’t stop staring at everything, clearly trying to catalogue information or whatever it was they did.

“You got the right data for this sort of place? How to act, what titles and junk to use if you need to address someone?”

“No master. I’ve never left the slums. I… It was never deemed necessary for me to learn.” It’d stopped looking around again and was paying very careful attention to where Ratchet was going.

“On the job learning then.” He pointed discretely to a high ranked noble, sipping energon outside a small, high end shop. “See those markings on his helm? High rank. You can tell by the quality of frame as well, though that’s something you learn with experience. Mech like that won’t ever talk to you, ‘cept to ask where I am. Be polite, call him ‘sir’ and tell him what he wants to hear.”

The drone nodded, and looked to be concentrating so hard on committing the information to its memory core than Ratchet almost wanted to laugh.

They strolled past another store, this one with an upper middle class family unit talking to each other.

“Family unit, you can tell by the matching helm decorations. Not high ranked enough to know me, so don’t tell them anything if they pester you, but be polite.” Another nod, and they moved on.

He pointed out several other mecha, from a variety of families and casts, and was halfway through trying to explain the subtle differences in pseudo-Praxian wing design when they finally got to his tower. Polite chit chat with the security guard, a quick addition of Drift to the list of those allowed in, and they were nearly home. Drift was taking in as much as it could again, though when they stepped into the plexi-glass lift, it seemed to freeze. Ratchet didn’t take any notice until it stepped back as close to the door, and as far from the full-length window, as possible.

“Problem?” Another glitch? Though it shook its head.

“No master! Survival… Protocols. It’s a long drop. Never done this before. I’ll… My learned behaviour will update with experience.” Weird, but nothing to worry about. He should probably look up a manual for these things though, check out what was normal and what needed to be fixed.

The lifted slowed to a smooth stop, with a trill of ‘welcome home’ as it opened into his apartment.

Apartment. Small palace. Apparently they were all the same if you were rich.

He beckoned Drift to follow him through to the main room, which alone was probably bigger than his entire clinic.

“Quick tour. Spare room, spare room, spare room, office, berthroom, washracks.” He moved in a circle on the spot, lazily pointing to each room as he turned. “That side of the room is some sort of energon prep and dining area, this side is where I collapse and drown my poor rich mech sorrows.” He curled his lip in distaste. He usually managed to forget how ridiculous his living situation was, but having to point it all out to the drone just highlighted the excessive and wasteful wealth bestowed upon him.

In an effort to stave off his bad mood, he walked over to the seating area and practically fell into his favoured space and pinged the household AI to turn the vidscreen on.

“Master? Is there anything I can do for you? Energon? Or…” He knew where that was going, and he was getting bored of it.

“Grab me a cube of the purple-ish high grade. There should be medical grade on the bottom shelf at the back for you. First cupboard on the left.” As if he needed more than one cupboard in the first place.

He could hear Drift collecting them, its soft steps louder as they echoed in the empty space. He should really furnish the place a bit more, but all of his possessions fit neatly in his berthroom, and he wasn’t particularly inclined to decorate the place with stuff he didn’t care about.

Drift arrived in the corner of his vision, and pit but it’d managed to find a tray and clean glass to serve it on. Unnecessary, and it made him laugh, but he took it without comment. Back to the vidscreen, and the drone drifted out of view, leaving him to enjoy his evening practically alone as usual.

* * *

He startled awake, and was confused when the first sight that greeted him was very late night advertisements glaring from his vidscreen.

Fell asleep on the sofa again then. Business as usual, and he pulled himself up and nearly yelled when he saw a figure standing quietly in the far corner, optics dim but not powered all the way down yet. 

Right. Drift. That was also a thing that had happened.

“Drift. Next time I fall into recharge like that out here, wake me up will you, and get me to my berth?”

“Yes master.” Its voice was filled with the static of near recharge.

“And you might as well recharge in one of the spare rooms. It’d be stupid if they were never used. One nearest you has a berth in it too, if… Drones use them.” He genuinely had no idea, but the room also had other corners for it to stand in if they didn’t.

“Thank you master.” It stumbled into the room, and Ratchet stumbled into his own, pretty much already in recharge again before he hit the covers.

* * *

“I need everything with the word ‘confidential’ or with the Prime’s Seal on my desk. Everything else… Sort it out, and put it somewhere I don’t have to look at it.” Ratchet already had a wad of stuff to read while Drift sorted the rest out, and he retreated into the living room to stay out of the way while it worked.

It was just the Prime’s medical history, and it wasn’t like he was going in to have his spark chamber fixed or anything, but being fully refreshed and up to date wouldn’t hurt. Then he’d reread notes on the ‘operation’ to make sure he could tell the entire entourage exactly what he was going to do, and then he could waste the rest of the week smooth talking his way into getting Drift into a CR chamber.

‘Smooth talk’ of course being a euphemism for pulling rank.

* * *

“Is there anyone in one of the many tanks we’ve got?”

“No sir.”

“And is anyone scheduled to take up all five within the next two days?”

“No sir…”

“Then _why_ are you being a little brat about this?” He hated to see people bullying the students and receptionists, but this one was barely capable of filling out a form, and Ratchet was in a miserable mood already.

“It’s not… It’s not signed off.”

With a dead stare and a quirk of his lip, Ratchet pulled the pad from the student’s hands, wrote out his full, glorious signature in the timetable, and handed it back.

“And now?” The mech still looked on edge, but he let them through anyway, shutting the door as soon as Drift had shuffled in behind Ratchet.

Five top of the range CR tanks, ideal for mechs suffering from extensive to minor injuries, and for reintegrating an alt mode after a frame modification.

In his time here, Ratchet had seen them used barely a handful of times, and never more than two at once. Now however, was not the time to start grumbling about _that_ again. Switching the closest one on, he motioned to the steps up into it.

“In you get, I haven’t got all day.” The drone was slow, but it got there, and once it was hooked up Ratchet shut the door, and started fiddling with the dials. “Shut every vent, and your mouth. This gel tastes like slag.” As it started seeping in, the drone looked alarmed, but seemed to calm down quickly enough, though it didn’t look away from Ratchet.

Fully filled, and the timer set, Ratchet left to go and mentally prepare himself for the drama of replacing a few worn out gears.

* * *

“It’s really wonderful what you’ve managed to achieve, and in such a short space of time. I looked up its history, anyone else would have left it for scrap, but you clearly saw beyond all that.”

He’d left one sycophantic group of idiots with the Prime, and swapped it for another as he willed the CR fluid to drain faster.

It was a drone, and some simple surgery, but the few mechs crowded around Drift’s CR chamber were acting like he’d rescued primus himself from certain death.

“It was a gift, to keep me busy for a while. Just had a lot of spare time recently.” Which was a lie, but once he got started on something he didn’t like to stop until it was finished. And just, one, more, second, and, now! He slammed down on the button to release the door, caught Drift as it nearly collapsed down the stairs, and dragged it upright.

“Master…?” Bleariness was usual in a mech after any amount of time in one of the chambers, and clearly that affected a drone frame as well.

“Take some steps. How’s the frame feel?” It wobbled at first, but was quickly walking back and forth, staying away from the gaggle of mechs watching them.

“I… The frame’s never felt so… Good and in working condition. Everything’s smooth, and work’s better than before.”

“Good.” The crowd was bothering him, in particular the group of medical support drones who wouldn’t stop staring at Drift from across the room. “Come on then. Thank you all for the uh, support? Whatever, have a good day.”

In the end he had to drag the drone out, as it was too caught up in the post-CR stupor, and wouldn’t stop staring at its own hands.

 


	5. A Good Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the big red flag for 'dubious as heck consent' comes in. This is also the last of the prewritten stuff I had, so updates will be coming a lot slower from this point forth.
> 
> I'm not sure if this feels like it's happening too soon, but I didn't want to write weeks worth of 'they just did their work and got on with life', so hopefully it doesn't seem like this was forced.
> 
> Of course, Ratchet still has to deal with the morning after...

With the long since surgery over, and obviously a resounding success, Ratchet was glad to back in the slums, fixing mechs who actually needed and appreciated it, rather than expected and demanded it of him. He’d taken Drift back, and the drone spent most nights at the clinic, though occasionally Ratchet would take it home to help clean or just for the novelty of having it serve him energon.

It seemed to be doing better now, more intuitive, and it’d started doing things of its own accord, such as bringing energon or making his berth. He assumed there was some sort of settling period, where it learnt what was expected of it, and though it might have taken several weeks it was finally starting to work things out.

He was contemplating throwing some paint on it tomorrow, when he had a steady hand and a clear head, and was mentally going over the suggestions he’d had from that patient. Definitely red, and black… And he might not like the yellow optics, but maybe some other yellow highlights would make them less jarring.

Said drone was currently kneeling on his floor of his vast living room, surrounded by textpads and diagrams on flimsy one-use sheets, and a couple of interactive hologram displays. He’d tasked the drone with learning some basic anatomy, set it up with stuff he hadn’t looked at in years, and promptly sat on his aft to enjoy his evening. Maybe after a few nights of this, he’d finally be able to get Drift working on that macabre crate of parts. It was a nice thought, though not as nice as imagining the drone all painted up…

“Do you need me master?”

“Huh?” Was he really that spaced out? He should probably stop drinking.

“You were… Watching me. Can I get you anything?”

“No. Go back to reading.” Except, now he realised that his frame wanted something else perhaps. Being around the drone so much he’d pretty much gotten used to it, could see what made _it_ a drone and _himself_ real, and focussing on the differences helped diminish the ‘uncanny valley’ feelings, as he’d once heard it called. And his spike definitely didn’t care.

Still, he wasn’t that desperate for a frag yet, that he’d lower himself to using a drone.

He took another sip of his drink, and watched Drift bend over to reach for a different datapad. A pure white frame was sinful enough, but that aft and the way plating parted slightly as it stretched…

Maybe he _was_ desperate enough.

He took another sip. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it? He hoped it was _him_ thinking this, and not the high grade, though he checked his cube to see how much- barely half. Okay, this was definitely on him then.

Another sip, because why not at this point, and he sat himself up a little straighter in his sprawl.

“Actually Drift, yeah get over here.” He patted his lap, because it seemed the thing to do. “And… Hands and knees. Crawl over.” Because if he was going to order something around, he might as well indulge some of his kinks. On that thought, he made a note to dig out that box of kinky stuff he hadn’t seen in a while, seeing as he might finally have use for it again.

Drift regarded him a moment, then ducked its head as it set the pad he was using down neatly on top of a pile. It shifted, and trembled as it slowly crawled over, which was an issue to look into later, but for now he appreciated the look of an attractive mech settling between his thighs. It flinched when he placed a hand on the crest of his helm, but relaxed into it when he just started playing with the decorations, lazily running fingers up and down an audial.

This was such a bad idea.

As it shifted closer, he watched and found himself lamenting the situation. He’d have been happy with any mech even half as attractive as Drift as a berth partner, though then again maybe that was the appeal. A real mech this pretty probably wouldn’t look at him twice, so here he was, about to make do with the next best thing and frag an overpriced toy. This was definitely a low point in his love life, but it didn’t stop his interface array warming up when Drift peered up at him.

Primus this was _such_ a bad idea.

He retracted his spike panel regardless.

His hand slipped down from the drone’s helm to play over neck cables, until it came into contact with its collar. It really was an ugly thing, chipped and battered and a cold, dead looking grey. The heavy duty hoops, welded on both front and back, suggested more than he cared to think about as to its main purpose. He was going to get a new one, probably red and definitely thinner, because yeah, he might as well indulge, and he always did love a pretty mech in an equally pretty collar.

“Show me what you can do then.” And he used the front collar ring to tug Drift towards his spike, then lazily stroked its neck as it started to tentatively lick and kiss the head.

He hummed approvingly. It was nice, though a little too gentle for his current mood, so he tugged on the collar again and it got the message, and shifted so that it could start taking the head into its mouth. Lips started to spread oral lubricant down the shaft, while its tongue laved over his slit, and he relaxed into the sensations with a sigh and shut his optics off to fully enjoy it.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. It could use some practice, though it would probably become more confident once it knew what he liked, though that surely wouldn’t be a chore to teach. Where were its hands though? They should be put to use on what it couldn’t take into its mouth.

After a few moments of enjoying himself, he slowly brought his optics online, and glanced down, and the sight near instantly wiped out his arousal. The thing was shaking, hands clenched tightly to the seat of the sofa, and its optics were a sickly, dim shade and he felt ill looking at them. It was an effort to keep his spike up, and whatever good mood he’d been in was suddenly gone, and he desperately tried to find a way to bring it back. Maybe it was just the drone’s ill looking optics?

“Turn your optics off.” And for a moment he thought it had worked, that he might be able to sink back into his haze of arousal, until it screwed its face up and gagged itself trying to take in more of his spike.

Clearly previous owners had a kink he wasn’t into himself, because he’d never seen anyone look so pained and distraught just sucking spike.

“You could at least try to look happy you know.” But no, speaking to it had it onlining its optics agin, and it looked so confused and afraid, and that was definitely not an image he could get off to. Apparently happy time was over. “Eurgh, get off.” And in his disgust, he shoved Drift away with a push to the forehead, too disgruntled now to care that it fell and might’ve damaged its new plating.

“That, was undoubtedly the least attractive thing I’ve ever seen.” He miserably watched his spike retreat back into its housing, and snapped his panel shut with a sigh. Where was his cube, he might as well try and forget this had ever happened.

Movement stopped him reaching for it though.

“I-I’m sorry master!” It was back on its knees, still shaking but at least its optics didn’t look half dead anymore. “Please, I can do better, I’m sorry I messed up, I didn’t realise what you wanted, I’m sorry master!” It was frantic, and that only served to churn Ratchet’s tanks even more, when it look genuinely scared and almost alive with that fear. He didn’t get off on miserable, scared mechs, and apparently didn’t like it in his drones either. Whatever personality mode the drone had switched on, it was doing nothing but making him feel worse and worse about his already pathetic evening.

He rubbed a hand over his face. He used to be one of the most notorious berth hoppers in his day, always a mech or two on one arm and a drink in the other hand, and frag but his yearbook literally had ‘Party Ambulance’ as his destined occupation.

How could ‘his day’ be over, only a handful of vorns after graduating. He had millennia left to live! He wasn’t sure he could face them being stuck as this dour, workaholic for the rest of his years.

And slag but the drone was still shaking, looking like he was about to chuck it on the scrapheap or something.

“Can you just, reset back to your normal uh, personality? This scared, shaky act is killing me.”

“I… I’ll try and, reset myself master.” He waved it off, and figured it’d sort itself out eventually. 

“And pfft, ‘what I want’. What I _want_ , is a lover. Living, with a real spark, and a personality that doesn’t clash too much with mine.” He huffed a laugh and slumped further back in his seat. “Preferably one who I only need to see when I want to get get rid of some charge. Oh frag what a mess.” He sprawled out yet further, and watched the drone pull itself back together. Eventually the twisting emotions on its face smoothed out, and its normal, blank look returned as it looked up at him.

“Master, I… know I’m not real, but I could pretend. I could set up a new… Personality mode, base it on whatever you wanted.”

Ratchet just looked at it and laughed, though then trailed off as he started to give it serious thought. Whatever he wanted huh? What did he even _like_ in a berthmate? He was pretty happy to switch it up, but he couldn’t argue that he loved dominating, drawing sounds and reactions from a lover pinned beneath him. Did it matter if the reactions were fake? Yes. But was he lonely and needing to blow his circuits? Also yes. And there was the argument that a frame is a frame, and just because the drone wasn’t connected to it like a forged mech, didn’t mean he couldn’t drive it to overload and get something out of it.

Worth a shot maybe? He pondered over it for a few more moments, then made his choice, huffed to himself and pulled himself up.

“Yeah. Yeah let’s try it. Sit up here, legs spread.” He patted the sofa and the drone moved quickly. It clearly had trouble adjusting for the new situation, but maybe that could work in his favour, and he’d get a reaction more easily.

He sank to his knees, shifted until he was as close to Drift’s panel as he could get, then hummed and pulled its legs over his shoulders, settling the thighs comfortably around his head. A soft blow of air to its panel already had the drone tensing, and it even squeaked when he slipped his fingers into its hip joints.

This was already going better than he’d hoped.

“Come on then, open up.” And he gave the panel a long, wet lick before it snapped open, to reveal the new hardware hidden inside. He still needed to check it had installed properly, and what better way that a test run. He dug his fingers in a little harder, pleased when the drone muffled another squeak, and set to work mapping the lines of the valve with his glossa. After a few more halted gasps from above him, he pulled back enough to look up. “What I like, is reactions. I want to hear, see and feel you come undone.” It nodded, then its face twisted in another cry when Ratchet twitched his fingers deeper into sensitive cables and joints.

Another long, flat lick from bottom to top had the drone wriggling needily already, and when he gently kissed and slipped his glossa inside, he had to hold its hips down. Small licks, then he dragged his glossa up to its external sensory node, an upgrade it didn’t have before, and set to sucking and teasing it, pulling whimpers and moans from it and increasing the frame’s charge.

“M-master…” He groaned into the valve at how desperate Drift sounded already. Wherever it had learnt _this_ behaviour, he wasn’t going to complain, and already his spike panel had slipped aside to ease some of the pressure in his own array.

“Hmm, you like that?” He mumbled into the folds of its valve, licking the sensors just inside again before moving back to _press_ his glossa against that beautiful little node, his grin only getting wider when he received a strangled shout in reply. He did it again, and again, then drew back a little to cast a look up.

Drift’s optics were almost white, looking at nothing as it panted cooler air into its frame. One of its hands was clenching at the sofa, the other balled and twitching in the air, clearly at a loss of where to put it. Easily fixed, and Ratchet removed a hand from where it was deeply entwined around sensitive wires, and reached up to grab it. Tugging its fingers open, he brought its hand down to rest against his own helm, his own palm on top, and mumbled instructions to stroke his chevron and helm. He had to guide it for the first few strokes, but clearly having something to grab on to made it easier to work its processors, and once it got the hang of it, he moved his own hand around to cup under its aft and start playing with the seams there.

Back to the job in front of him, and Drift had finally started to lubricate, the rim of the valve swollen and glistening with a mix of their fluids. As more dribbled forth, he made sure to lave it up, working his glossa in a little deeper to press hard now against those inner nodes.

He swore he could _taste_ the charge on his glossa, and could definitely feel the inner valve walls flexing, twitching as it grew closer to overload. It was a new frame, new array, so it wasn’t surprising that it was so sensitive, but he did want to drag it out a little longer.

It wailed when he drew away, and those distant optics were now definitely focussed on him, wordlessly begging him to finish it off. 

“Soon.” He leaned up, ran his glossa over its spike housing instead. “But first show me this.” It froze, and it was understandable given that he doubted anyone had ever wanted to use it before. He stroked both hands down to its legs, waiting for it to work out what behaviour settings or whatever to use, and had fun occupying himself with massaging its inner thighs in the meantime.

Soon enough, its frame relaxed and the panel slid open, revealing the head of its pristine spike, just starting to pop out, and Ratchet wasted no time in diving on it, slipping his lips around it the same time as he slipped both thumbs into its valve. When the drone cried out, and grabbed harder at his helm, he pushed his thumbs in further, and started massaging its inner walls, stretching and spreading it, and checking each node was aligned correctly as he went. So far, everything was perfect, and he groaned around the hardening length when he thought about sinking himself into that tight heat.

Above him, Drift was sobbing, its inhalations catching and out of sync, and another glance up showed him a face screwed up in a desperate sort of bliss, and he greatly enjoyed the way its optics flashed when he gave its spike a long, hard suck.

He could feel it trembling around his thumbs, and knew that as much as he wanted to keep going, its overload was imminent; it wasn’t good to try and delay a new array from overloading, less he damage something. Dropping his gaze, he redoubled his effort, pressing hard on inner nodes as he took its spike to the base, and gave it another hard suck and lick to the head. A screech of ‘master’ was its attempt at a warning, and then it was overloading, hot transfluid spilling down his throat, and lubricant gushing as it clenched hard on his thumbs. It shook and writhed above him, optics fully white and mouth open, and it had probably left a small dent in his helm where it was grabbing so hard, but he didn’t really care. He hadn’t seen that sort of a reaction outside of a porn vid, though he guessed that’s where it learnt, but it was still more than enough to boost his ego a little, as well as flood his already strained systems with a new burst of arousal.

He drew of the spike gently, massaging its valve as he pulled out, and then he hoisted himself up to sit next to it, running both his hands and his optics over its worn out frame. It would probably take a few moments for it to recalibrate, but the dazed, blissed out look on its slack face was something he thought could stare at for hours.

 _Definitely_ , a good idea. Even now, no longer in the heat of the moment, he felt good and not disgusted with himself, despite his face covered in drone fluid and its transfluid in his tank.

Slowly, it seemed to come to, and turned to look at Ratchet before looking down to his painfully erect spike.

“Yeah, we’ll get to that in a moment. What’s your fuel level at?”

“A little over 50% master.” Its voice was still full of static, and slag if that didn’t just make him even harder. Still, he wanted it a little more fuelled up than that before he finished off their evening. He reached for his discarded cube of high grade, took a small sip himself and then handed it to the drone, who took it with shaky hands.

“Drink up. Then we’ll move this to the berth.” It did as it was told quickly, optics instantly brighter as it drank the fuel down, and the second it’d placed it on the side table Ratchet was pulling it up and leading it through to his room.

Inside, he kept the lights slightly dimmed, and waved Drift onto the berth, standing back to admire the image as the drone instantly laid back and spread its thighs, valve still dripping and wide. After a moment’s hesitation, it dragged a hand down over its frame, glided past the half-hard spike, and moved to slip two fingers inside, thrusting once before tugging himself open for Ratchet to see.

“Master. Please, use me as you wish.” And such a drone-like phrase would have had him recoiling, were it not for its dimmed optics and hitched voice. He was already looking forward to the next time, when he’d start with a clear mind and could start teaching it what he liked, teach it how to writhe and beg for his spike. He shot a glance to his cupboard, where a set of restraints were hidden somewhere in a box, but gave up on that thought before it could really form. Next time, he’d be prepared, and play with this frame until it overloaded itself into a forced recharge.

“You say the sweetest things.” He dropped down, slunk his way between its thighs, and slipped two of his own fingers inside next to the drone’s. He bent down to rest himself over its frame, drawing an audial into his mouth to lick and nip at. It was already wriggling so much that it practically fragged itself on their fingers, and he filed that thought away to try properly later. “Next time, I’m just going to watch as I make you frag yourself to overload.” He mumbled around the audial in his mouth. Drift didn’t care of course, but he got off on the dirty talk more than he cared about what a drone might ‘think’ of him. “Gonna tie you up, overload you until you can’t even see, and then fill you until I run out of transfluid. You’re so beautiful, especially when you overload, so I’m going to enjoy doing it again and again, just to watch your face. ”

He crooked his fingers to rub along a deep seated cluster of nodes, grinning down at it when it tensed and instantly started trying to drive his own fingers into that spot.

“Master, master please!” It was sobbing again, and trying to push down harder on the four fingers spreading it wide, while its other hand had moved to start stroking over its external node, the movements awkward as it tried to play with the new feature on its frame.

“I should fill you up with toys, and take you to the clinic like that, so I have something nice to watch while the day drags by. Just want to stick you in the corner, and watch you overload all day, and then frag you over my desk when the last patient leaves.” It was so wet, he swore he’d have been able to slip his whole hand in, though it seemed to be trying that itself with the way it ground down.

“Please, oh please please master, please I need- please master, please use me, please use me-!” He cut its begging off with a soft kiss to the corner of its mouth, then adjusted them both, removing both of Drift’s hands from its array to pin by the side of its helm. It whined when he rubbed his length through the mess of lubricants, but it quickly turned to static when he shifted and pushed in.

Frag but it felt so good. Tight, and hot and slick, and it spasmed as he sank inside, and he knew neither of them would last long, but he was too charged up to care.

Its hands were clenching so hard it was likely to damage itself, so he shifted his grip to lace their fingers together, and struggled to keep his head up to watch it as he finally nudged against its ceiling node. He didn’t bother to ask if it was ready, before he was dragging out, then slamming back in, his own vents and fans not quite enough to drown out Drift’s cries.

He _really_ , wasn’t going to last long, so he’d better make it worth it. Three more hard thrusts, and a bite to Drift’s audial fin, and it was sobbing out in overload again, optics blazing as it shook. He slammed in twice more, and with the rippling clench of the valve he overloaded himself, jamming inside and grunting as the pressure broke, leaving him gasping as he emptied inside.

He wasn’t completely sure how long he lay there, enjoying the tingling sensations ebb away, but when he came back to himself he just moaned and flopped to sit to the side, blearily watching with satisfaction how his own fluids leaked from Drift’s suddenly empty valve.

Like last time, the drone was taking a while to recalibrate, but that left him enough time to nudge it over and out of the wet patch, and settle himself down next to it. Physically he felt amazing, like so many weights had just lifted from him, leaving him free and loose and comfortable. As he cooled down though, his mental state took a nosedive, when it all started to sink in, and he suddenly felt unbearably lonely, covered in shared fluids and lying next to a cheap drone.

Without thinking, he grabbed Drift, clutched him close and settled his chin on its head, trying to drown himself in the feeling of a warm frame to hold.

“Master… Do you want…” Drift had come back to itself. One of its arms was pinned between them, but it tentatively moved its free one to brush over his back. When Ratchet nodded desperately, it clutched him hard, mimicking Ratchet’s hold, and the medic suddenly didn’t feel so desolate anymore. He might not have a real lover, but he had a good job, friends he could call, and his work in the slums was deeply fullfilling.

And now he had this drone, to help chase away the bad feelings with its pretty face and wonderful ability to satisfy his body at least.

“Stay here tonight Drift. We’ll clean up in the morning.” He felt it nod, its reply mumbled into his neck, and with the lull of its slowing systems, he eventually drifted off into a natural recharge himself.

* * *

[Larbesta](http://larbestaaargh.tumblr.com/) drew this unbelievable piece of fanart, and I have no words for how perfect it is :'D

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Current research on drones indicates that the false spark merely animates the frame it's installed in. Though the sensors in the frame allow it to feel touch, heat, cold, etc the lack of spiritual/emotional connection means that it doesn't technically 'feel' the touch, merely registers it and acts accordingly to the data given.
> 
> That is not to say, that drones cannot be taught how to react in lifelike ways depending on the sensory input, and situation. An embarrassing problem in many new drones, is that having been taught how to react during interface, they register all touch as a sign that they should act sexually, and it can lead to awkward situations in public. Drones commissioned specifically for the berth, tend to cost a small fortune because of the extensive downloads and teaching required to have it acting as a mech would. A cheaper option many choose however, is just to have their drone watch a variety of pornographic vids and teach it the missing information themselves.'


	6. Wet Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I can keep up some sort of schedule, and have a new chapter every couple of weeks :3

Waking up was… Blissful. He was comfortable, and had a warm frame still hugging him tightly, and he was relaxed in the way that only a good overload could bring. He wanted to stay there, dozing and only halfway out of recharge, and he turned to wrap his arms back around Drift in an attempt to make it last longer.

He could get used to this, he realised. Could get used to the warmth, and the arms around his frame. And as he dimly onlined his optics to glance down, he realised he could quite happily get used to seeing the drone’s face like that, relaxed and serene in recharge, optics off so that he could daydream for a while longer that this was real.

He knew he should feel disgusted with himself, and if he thought too hard about it he still felt the creeping edge of nausea, but it all paled in comparison to the way his spark whirled with excitement and arousal when he remembered Drift’s face twisting in that weird, pseudo-pleasure. If anything, he felt more horrified at how quickly and easily he’d accepted it, and how eager he was already to see what else he could do with the drone.

Ratchet managed to make himself lie still and enjoy himself for several breems before he started itching to get up, because as much as the idea of an entire day in the berth sounded, the dried fluids on his plating were starting to irritate, and he had work to do. With a nudge, the drone was online and looking up, awaiting instruction, and though Ratchet was initially going to have it shower separately and clean off the berth, he was struck by the urge to shower with it, and pretend it was real just a little while longer.

This was a dangerous game he was playing, but as he sat up and tugged Drift through to the washracks, he tried to ignore it, and convinced himself that he’d be able to get rid of the drone should there be any problems.

The drone just stood under the wash of solvent as it cascaded down from the ceiling- the washracks, like the rest of his apartment, was over the top and obscene. Big enough for at least five mechs twice their size, with jets in the walls so that you could get blasted clean from a variety of angles, and ensure full cleanliness. Though now that Ratchet was paying better attention to it, he noticed Drift’s cleaning regime was severely lacking.

“Have you even been cleaning your back?” The drone flinched when he touched its shoulder, but that didn’t stop Ratchet from inspecting it. The tops of its shoulders were clean enough, but dirt and grime was starting to accumulate in the seams, and it was clear that it hadn’t been able to reach anywhere on its back properly. With a shake of his head, he grabbed a soft cloth and cleaner, and set to work on scrubbing the muck off.

Pristine white plating revealed itself as he worked, and he remembered his thoughts the night before about painting it up. The work he had… Wasn’t urgent, and he could always catch up on it while Drift dried perhaps? He watched Drift’s plating start to open up, and pulled a face when it let trickles of inner dirt start to wash out. How could it even get so dirty so quickly? He pulled out another cloth, and handed it over with the bottle of cleaner.

“Clean up your front while I work, or we’ll be in here all day.” If he wanted to paint it, he’d have to sit it down and get out the full set of cleaning brushes and scrub every inch, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get it to do half of the work itself.

When its back was done, he turned off the spray and pulled out a stool, and had it sit so that he could work on its legs. In the end he reached over for the full kit as well, and knelt as he worked on its feet, working a thin brush into every crack, and letting it wash the dirt away. Next were arms, which were much less dirty, and then he did the back again quickly before moving on to the helm.

All the while it shivered and made little half hitched noises, but didn’t flinch away and so Ratchet paid no attention to them, assuming that the plating was still sensitive and it was testing out reactions to the different stimuli.

Frag, even its face was dirty, with the plating hidden partially under its crest gathering grime, and Ratchet just tutted as he held its chin in one hand, while he worked another soft brush into the cracks. A soft swipe of the cloth of bright optics, and Ratchet pulled away to check it over, and it was then that he finally realised what the shivering and noises must have been- it was charged up, just at the soft touches and Ratchet mentally scheduled a full check up later that week as he finally took notice of the trembling frame and its shuttered optics.

Clearly, the soft touches were being interpreted as a cue to prepare for an interface, though it shouldn’t be quite that sensitive, and whilst Ratchet hadn’t planned for it he could feel his own arousal stirring as he watched it fidget under his gaze.

Well, he did still have to clean out its array. Might as well finish getting it dirty first.

He led it to stand with the hand under its chin, then moved it so that it was bracing itself against the wall, peering over its shoulder at him as he just admired its frame, and without prompting it spread its legs a little wider, and tilted its aft up, and Ratchet’s engines revved a little louder at the display.

Drift sighed when he pressed closer and encircled its waist with his hands, though bleated static when he moved down to cup its aft, thumbs pressing and stroking against its valve cover.

“Need to clean here too.” It was s dumb line, and any other lover would have just groaned or giggled indulgently, but Drift whimpered and snapped it open, angling itself further into his touch when Ratchet stroked over the glistening rim. With one hand, he dipped his fingers inside, and just started to lazily stroke and scissor his fingers, while with the other hand he reached up to grab the precision jet washer. He set it to a softer setting, and while he fingered that deliciously responsive valve, started washing over Drift, starting at seams and sensitive places at the neck, rinsing out leftover muck and stimulating pressure points at the same time. He could feel the frame tense and relax under him and around his fingers, and took his time in cleaning off every inch of its frame, though never quite letting the stream hit its interface array, despite the dribbles of fluid leaking out between his twisting fingers.

It whined beautifully when he slipped a third finger in, though he wanted to hear more, so deigned to finally angle the jet of solvent against its exterior sensory nub. The strangled ‘m-master!’ made him grin, and he loved the way it dissolved into mewls when he slowly ramped the pressure up, and he could feel that it was close to overload, by the way it panted and writhed, and began to spasm around his fingers.

“Not yet.” He withdrew his hand, though immediately replaced it with the hose, angling it inside the rim to blast solvent inside and ignite untouched sensors. He had to catch it, an arm around its waist when its legs started to give out, and he shifted them so that Drift was pulled tight against his chest, helm rolled back onto his shoulder as he played with it using the jet wash.

He mouthed at its jaw and wished the mirror wasn’t completely steamed up so he could watch it come undone but no matter; that was something he could enjoy at a later date. Instead, he angled the hose so that it slipped inside it a little, and used the hand holding it to help block off the entrance to the valve, feeling with his other palm over its abdomen as he filled it full of solvent. When it’s whimpers cut off to choked whines, and it clutched at him, he pulled his hand away, letting all the solvent rush out before putting the hose back and doing it again and again, filling and releasing the pressure before it could properly overload.

On the fourth time, when he pulled out and angled the stream at it’s nub, it collapsed into overload, clutching at him as it trembled and gasped in his arms, strangled whines of ‘master’ sending a rush of arousal straight to Ratchet’s spike.

As it’s climax trailed off, he lowered it gently to its knees, dropping himself to kneel behind it, and with a little repositioning Ratchet was easily sliding inside, groaning as its valve still spasmed in aftershocks around him. Two fingers rubbed its sensory nub, while the other hand stroked along any bit of plating he could find, and he rocked them both together, grinding against its ceiling node and pinching its nub, until it was gasping and trying desperately to press back into him. A gentle bite to the tip of its finial, and it was wailing in overload again, the strong clench and shaking more than enough to pull Ratchet’s own overload from him.

He didn’t stop stroking it until they’d both calmed down, and with a final, lingering stroke to its nub, he pulled out and grabbed at the jet wash again. A quick hose down for the both of them, and they were done, though with Drift looking remarkably more dazed and blissed out than himself.

“Hmm, what’re your fuel levels like?” He towel dried himself quickly, then paid more attention to Drift, poking the cloth into every crevice to ensure it was completely dry.

“Twenty five percent master.”

“I want you to tell me whenever you drop below forty, or if I’m not around just refuel yourself.” Ideally a mech shouldn’t drop much below fifty, but the drone seemed perfectly capable of running on much less.

“Yes master, I understand.” A quick swipe of the cloth over its face, and the job was done, and they could refuel while Drift air dried a little more.

* * *

“I want you to stand here, and just… Not move as much as possible.”

“Yes master.”

After refuelling, he’d dragged Drift next to the area by the window, where he had better light to work with, and could see how it’d look outside of the harsh, unnatural light of his apartment or clinic. With Drift positioned, he ran off to gather up his spare paints and a stool, setting everything up on the low table he’d dragged halfway across the room.

Clean, sand, primer, sand, paint, sealant, polish. He wanted this to last, so planned on doing it properly, though due to its higher quality plating, it wouldn’t take as much work. He was only painting select parts as well, so thankfully it wouldn’t take as long as it might’ve had he more elaborate tastes.

He started at the feet and worked up, rubbing gently with the abrasive paper in the main areas to be painted, namely its thighs and upper arms. Smaller details, like the red lining he wanted on he helm, wouldn’t need the sanding, and he’d just touch it up occasionally down the line. A quick dust off with a cloth, and then he connected the primer up to the spray-painter, and it went on beautifully, and by the time he’d finished priming its upper arms and hands, the legs were dry enough to sand again, and start painting.

It was a mindless, but enjoyable task, and as he started working the details in on top of the dry base, he was pleased to see Drift really starting to look like he was almost alive, vibrant and with teasing splashes of colour, rather than the full white favoured by pleasuremechs. It was doing a good job of keeping still too, and an easier job always put Ratchet in a good mood, so by the time he was ready to paint its helm he was almost humming of all things.

He held its chin in his hand while he brushed the yellow details into its crest and side vents, and took some amusement in watching it trying to follow the brush with its optics, and nearly crossing its visual input in the process.

When it was finally done, Ratchet took a step back and admired his work, walked around it and checked every inch to make sure it was perfect. It was, and Drift was now definitely something he’d be willing to show off if the occasion called for it.

Except for that ugly collar, which did in fact give him an idea.

“Okay, arms and legs spread, and flare your plating as much as you can, but shut your vents.” It immediately did as it was told, and Ratchet walked around it, spraying on the final layer of sealant, thinly and evenly. In a few moments it would be dry enough for Drift to open his vents again, but it would take some time to be properly touch dry, and he told it as such. “So now, while you dry off, I’m going to go buy some bits. Don’t move an inch, don’t even answer me, I’ll take your silence as your usual ‘yes master’.” And before it could possibly find anything else to say, he was out the door.

* * *

Given the area he lived in, most stores within a sensible distance to drive were ridiculously overpriced, especially when it came to specialist drone stores- what better way to show off your wealth than by dressing up your pet drone, when it neither needed nor could appreciate it.

Although the thought of Drift in some of that fancy jewellery, delicate gems and fine chains dangling from his audials and criss-crossing its frame, was enough to make him pause outside a particularly overpriced vendor, before he caught himself and drove on. He just wanted a collar, simple and attractive, without spending all of his savings.

He turned the corner, and down off the main commercial street were more reasonable shops and restaurants, and he transformed to walk by a few, checking out the window displays before he finally found one he liked the look of. Walking in, he wasn’t immediately accosted, but he saw a service drone perk up and smile prettily at him. An attractive model, it was wearing a full set- collar as well as ankle and writs cuffs- and Ratchet’s mind immediately went to the gutters with the thought of binding Drift up with something similar, spread-eageled in his berth.

It was honestly like having his protocols activated for the first time, seemingly constantly revved up, and he could barely go a minute without thinking about the damn drone.

Apparently he’d dallied too long, and the drone was approaching him.

“Might I help you sir?” Well, if he could get this over with quicker…

“Yeah, need something uh, ‘bout as thin as this.” He held up two fingers to illustrate the width he wanted. “And ideally red.”

“Of course sir, please come this way.” It led him further into the store, past the gaudy, jewel encrusted stock and to a wall of much plainer, every day looking collars. With two hands it reached up and took a box off the shelf, almost reverently. “Though visually simpler than much of our stock, these are just as finely crafted, and many prefer them for daily use, saving out more elaborate designs for the evening and parties.” It lifted the lid, and held it out to him. Inside, laid delicately on a piece of fine mesh, was a simple red collar, a little thicker than both his fingers. Rather than any rings it was plain, with script work engraved beautifully all over, and he noticed that it had a clasp at the back, rather than needing to be welded on

“What material is this?” When he picked it up, it was soft and malleable in his hands, though much thicker and harder wearing than any mesh he’d ever seen.

“An imported material sir. One of the far colonies has begun creating it, to mimic the hide of the local fauna, but without needing to subject yourself to handling organic hide. The softer exterior is bonded to a heavy weight mesh core, so it’s soft but durable.” It was perfect, the comfortable sort of collar a submissive forged mecha might wear, rather than a drone. He wondered how the assistant could tell exactly what he needed, though he was more concerned by the lack of a visible price tag.

He asked.

He nearly went into spark arrest at the answer.

“That’s… Is there anything similar, but…”

“We have many in our range at a more affordable price. Please over here sir.” It proceeded to show him though a number of different styles, from more basic to more extravagant, but he kept glancing back to the first one anyway. In the end, he figured he’d already made his mind up, and told the drone as such.

With another polite smile, it took him back to the first display, picking out the needed size based on Drift’s frame specs, and before Ratchet knew it, he was back in the street, one collar better off, and several hundred shanix poorer.

* * *

Back in his flat, and Drift was exactly as he’d left it, though seemed to perk up when he came in. He did another quick inspection, deemed the job done and dry, and motioned for Drift to sit on one of the stools in the dining area.

“Bend your neck forward, I’m changing this thing.” It did as it was told, and Ratchet put a piece of scrap mesh from his medical kit between the collar and its neck, then used the instruments in his fingers to melt the ugly weld line of the heavy collar, and with a grunt and a pull it was off.

Underneath was a mess. Thankfully a clean mess due to their extended shower that morning, but scuffed and bruised, and he could see when its self repair had managed to get so far before giving up. He really should have done this at the beginning, but it hadn’t even crossed his mind to think about what lay underneath. He’d have to leave it uncovered for a while, until they next left the flat perhaps, just to let it heal up and allow the cables to readjust themselves. With deft fingers, he smoothed in a rich, nanite heavy gel, to speed up the process, then told Drift to stay where he was before he wandered off to get his polishing kit. He didn’t need it shining, but a quick rub down would look better.

A quick polish later, and Ratchet looked it over again, more than happy with the final result.

“Yeah, I did a good job. You look good. Now, grab us both a cube and you can get back to studying while I work.”

* * *

After a few hours of staring at the same sentence on his pad, Ratchet knew it was time for a break, and set his work off to the side with a groan. In the main room, he could hear an old holovid teaching Drift the stages of a special rust corrosion only seen in shuttles- a bit niche for a drone to know, but if it was learning then he wasn’t going to stop it.

And just like that, his mind was back to Drift, and arousal was stirring before he’d even had a chance to think a single dirty thought. Yeah, this was worse than his early days with new protocols, though at least he could put this obsession down to it being something new and interesting in his otherwise tedious life.

Still, he should probably check up on it, see if it was actually absorbing the information or just going through the motions. With a grunt he was up and through the door, rubbing at his stiff back as best he could as he took in the image of Drift absorbed in the vid file before it. It was honestly quite endearing, how it was so focussed on the speaker, and Ratchet could only wish that even half his students were ever that engaged. It seemed to be taking notes too, and a quick glance showed a poorly drawn map of a mech’s central nervous system, labelled and colour coded.

Well, clearly it wasn’t intended as an artist, but he couldn’t fault the effort it put in to learning.

When Drift finally noticed him, it hurried to click the vid off and give him its full attention, though in the end it just ended up watching him walk over to collapse in his favoured spot. He wasn’t in the mood to watch the vidscreen, nor get drunk again, so in the end he ended up watching Drift for a few moments before huffing and patting his lap.

“Come up here. Let me check your neck out.” It rose easily- much easier than it used to he noticed, with a fair amount of grace these days- and settled comfortably on his lap, straddling his thighs while its hands rested gently on his chest. Frag but his array was already heating up, but he really did want to check over its damage before he got too carried away.

It tilted its head away obediently when he rose a hand up to stroke and check each neck cable, and he was pleased to see the gel was already starting to help knit the damage back together. It’d probably be safe to put the collar back on tonight, though he’d play it safe and wait until morning. Now though, was time for more interesting things.

Starting with its shoulders, he ran his hands over everything he could touch, tracing the new lines of paint details and dipping into seams when they opened to let him in, and by the time he had his hands encircling its waist, it was already panting and looking up at his with dimmed optics.

“Don’t get too excited just yet.” He might have been thinking about Drift during work a lot more than he’d intended, and he might have also been thinking a lot about jazzing up its interface array, his optics flicking back to the paint cans on the table that had yet to be put away. With a rub of its hips, he pushed it off and got up, much to its confusion.

“Master?”

“I’m not done with you yet. Remember last night?” He picked up the cans and brush as it nodded. “Sit back on the sofa like that again, legs wide, panels open.” Drift seemed almost eager, and practically dove onto the sofa and was holding his legs apart before Ratchet even got back to it. Its panels were open, though it kept its spike recessed, and the shine of lubricant already starting to dribble out had him overwriting commands for his own panels to pop open.

It was a damn beautiful sight, especially the way it looked at him and wriggled impatiently under his gaze.

“Good, very good.” He settled on his knees again, and propped on of Drift’s legs over the arm of the sofa to give him more room to work. “Now, extend your spike. And no overloading until I say you can, I don’t want you smudging my work.” It didn’t take long for its spike to extend, the gleaming white length attractive in its own right, though he was definitely inclined to make it more to his own tastes.

Without a word he dipped the detail brush in the red paint, put his other hand on Drift’s hip to keep it in place just in case, and brushed a single, smooth line of red from the transfluid slit, all the way to the base. He could feel Drift tense and stiffen under his hand, though that didn’t stop him repeating the stroke, thickening and filling in the line until it was solid and attractive. Lewd as the pit mind you, practically an arrow pointing down to the slit as well as down to its valve, though it wasn’t like anyone else was going to see it aside from him, so he might as well indulge in his own perverted tastes.

With the black, he coloured in the top side, grinning as Drift let out an almost pained whine when he repeatedly painted one particularly sensitive ridge a couple of times.

“Should get you some biolights, so I can admire your array even in the dark.” It just nodded, seemingly too caught up with the sensations as ratchet Reached for the red again, and drew from the red line, down his array and stopping just short of its sensory nub, where he split off the line and traced it down each side of its valve, a red ring to mark the spot.

He probably needed to hurry up, before Drift couldn’t stop the frame form overloading, but instead he took his time and pleasure in using the handle of the brush to slip inside it and teasingly stroke at inner sensors. As it clenched down in an attempt to properly feel the intrusion, another rush of lubricant dribbled forth, and Ratchet carefully lowered to lick it up before it could mix with the paint.

“Yeah definitely need some lights down here, maybe inside too.” He’d once had a lover with such a mod, and the sight of him spreading himself, lights inside showing the way, was one of his favourite memories of university.

Moving back up, he reapplied the paint, and with precise movements, painted in its sensory nub, a bright red, an unmissable spot of colour acting as yet another explicit direction of where to touch. He sat back to admire his work, and the sight of its erotically painted array, complete with it trying so hard to stay still and vent, was enough to have his panels slipping aside, and his spike pressurising into the air. Still, just a few last touches to go.

“At some point, I’m going to get you pierced.” With yellow paint, he dabbed a dot of yellow to the underside of its spike head. “Here.” Another dab on each ridge as he went down the spike. “Here, here, here and here. With maybe something on the top too, just to give me something good to ride when I’m in the mood.” He’d like to get its nub pieced too, though he wasn’t sure the dab of yellow would work with the dot of red. Maybe he could try it later, but for now he was happy with his work.

“R-ride?”

“Mmhmm, I’ve paid to give you a spike, I might as well use it might’n I?” He pressed a hand to each thigh, massaging comfortingly as it trembled in near overload already. With a quick lick, he lapped up more escaping lubricant, and was content to settle in and watch it for the time it took the paint to dry- thankfully the quicker drying of his stock- when an explosion of noise sounded from his console.

A glance behind him to his vidscreen showed it as Pharma, and with a frustrated sigh he pushed up to go answer it.

“Don’t move.” He heard a strained ‘yes master’ as he walked to his office- he could have answered it from the comfort of his living room, but wasn’t in the mood to be on such full display to his friend just at that moment. A sigh as he sat down and accepted the call, and then there was Pharma’s grinning face taking up the screen.

“Well, don’t look so pleased to see me.”

“You have the most appalling time.”

Pharma didn’t even have the grace to look sorry.

“Caught yourself a lover? Or just making use of my gift? Oh Ratchet, I have so much to tell you, but first I want to see what you’ve done with it.” Melodramatic as always, though Ratchet was genuinely glad to hear from him.

“Fixed it up, looks good. Just painting him right now.” He wondered if he’d get away with just telling him, but luck wasn’t on his side.

“Show me? Come on I know there’s a portable comm to you console, or we could just use the big screen you’ve got.”

“…Fine.” He conceded without a fight. There wasn’t much point arguing, so instead he switched the conversation over to the handheld unit and took Pharma though to see Drift. This… Wasn’t how he’d imagined unveiling his work on the drone, but at least Pharma would be pleased to see him actually using it.

“Here, see for yourself.” He turned the cam on, and angled it so that Pharma could get a good look at Drift, spreading himself and dazed, like a needy piece of shareware. The voice from the comm was gleeful.

“Ratchet! You did such a good job, though I see your tastes haven’t evolved any.” With the ogling over, Ratchet collapsed into the seat next to Drift, palmed his own spike a little before reaching over to lightly touch Drift’s, checking the paint. Dry, but could still do with a bit longer to cure. He kept his hand there though, absently stroking and feeling along the length.

“So tell me about Vos then. Found a nice lover or drone for yourself?”

“Well that’s a thing- would you believe there’s no such thing as a flight frame drone here? Apparently it’s a disgrace to the wings, so they’re all grounders kept at the foot of the towers.” He sounded almost put out. “Had to find myself a real lover, which is harder than you’d expect given their reputation.” Ratchet wasn’t sure what reputation that was- as far as he knew, flight frames and seekers especially were just high strung and volatile, pretty to look at but not something you actually wanted to go near.

“I doubt that stopped you though.”

“Of course not, switch on your video.” He did, and was greeted by the image of a purple and silver seeker, offlined and sprawled in what was presumably Pharma’s berth. From the angle, Ratchet had a good view of his open valve, as well as the cuffs still holding his arms behind his back and his thrusters to the bottom corners of the berth. “Pretty hmm? Called Silverwing, and he’s definitely one of the better ones I’ve had in recent years.”

“Last I knew of you were sticking your spike in torn up drones, so it can’t be hard.” The indignant splutter made Ratchet smile as he pressed a finger into Drift’s valve, before they carried on chatting. Pharma telling him of the idiots at his new job, of the sprawling spires and towers he’d found he loved, and in return Ratchet told him of how he fixed up Drift, and the scattering of memorable patients he could recall.

“…And they do these ridiculously sweet little treats, though maybe they were just extra sweet because I was eating them out of Silverwing’s valve-“

“Pharma!”

“Tch, don’t tell me you’ve become even more of a prude since I last saw you. But yes, sweet and I’ll send some to you, and I’ve already sent some of those bitter things I know you like, which almost taste palatable from the confectioner here.”

“Thanks, you missing anything from home I can send?”

“Hmm aside from the pleasure of your company? No, though you might send some vintage high grade- the fuel here is delicate and beautifully clean, but it’s appalling for getting drunk on.”

Before Ratchet could answer, he was interrupted by a quiet whimper from next to his audial, and he looked down in surprise to see himself three fingers deep into Drift’s valve, with the drone trembling and clearly on the verge of overload, though doing a tremendous job of keeping back from it. He called its name, but didn’t get much of a response, and judging by the overblown optics and laboured vents, all of its processor power was centred on not allowing its frame to overload.

“I might have to call you back Pharma, seems I got far too distracted from the job at hand.”

“Hmm, so I hear. Well, enjoy yourself, I guess I should get back to my own before he wakes up in a tizz over the state I left his wings.”

They said their goodbyes, and Ratchet hung up and tossed the phone to the seat next to him before turning his full attention to the drone he’d accidentally teased to near offlining.

“I must’ve gotten lost in the conversation. Pharma can talk about nothing for damn near days at a time.” And judging by the sheer amount of lubricant pooling under its aft, he’d been lost for a long while. “You don’t have to be quiet, and it looks like the paint’s dry so feel free to overload when you need.” He crooked his fingers a few more times, and that was all it took before it was overloading with a choked off sob, its arms coming to clutch at him while it shook and writhed. Another spread of his fingers, and a rub of its newly painted nub, and it was gasping again, as a smaller overload overtook it, and Ratchet almost felt guilty for how charged up it must have been.

“T-thank you master, I-thank you.” It mumbled into his chest from where it had twisted to press against him, and Ratchet just hummed and stroked its thigh. His own charge had dwindled off during his conversation with Pharma, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could be bothered trying to drag it back up again. Instead he looked at the mess on their frames and the sofa, and tugged Drift onto his lap and out of its own fluids. They’d need to shower again before recharging, but for now he was in the mood to hold something warm and watch whatever late night special was on the vidscreen.

* * *

“Okay, so tilt your helm forward.” The next morning, Drift’s neck cables were more than healed enough to put it in the new collar, and with a quick snap it was in place, and Ratchet remotely transferred his details over to it. “Okay, turn around.” It did so, and Ratchet had to try and contain his own excitement. It looked good, really good, and seemed in shock when Ratchet smiled and nodded his approval.

“Master?”

“You look good, suits you. How’s it feel?” It hesitantly brought up a hand to touch it, lightly stroking along the soft length and glancing to the side where Ratchet had brought out a mirror. It stared for a moment, but eventually answered.

“It’s lighter than the other, and doesn’t pinch my neck cables. I should have much better range of movement and less damage, thank you master.”

“Good. In that case, clear up the packaging. Keep the box, but the bag can go down the rubbish chute.” He turned to go start clearing up the mess of paints he’d left out overnight, and had gotten halfway through putting them back when he noticed the drone hadn’t moved, and was clutching the collar receipt in its hand.

“Drift?” He made to go over, in case something was wrong. “What’s up?” Like a switch, Drift had turned with its head bowed, the perfect image of submission, were it not for the hard copy of flimsy clutched in its hand.

“Nothing master, I’m sorry I was just… The price of the collar, it’s… it’s a lot, more than I’d ever expect so it took a moment to input the uh, data.”

“Uh huh.” Weird but he’d seen it do stranger things. “Well, I liked it and if I’m going to be showing you off at some point, might as well give those idiots a good show. Anyway, hurry up with that, I have a list of regulars coming to the clinic today, so we should get there as early as possible.” It nodded and hurried to help clear up the mess, though Ratchet noticed it stare at the receipt a while longer before it eventually threw it away.


	7. A Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of plot, bit of smut.

Ratchet fought the urge to smack someone as he watched a group of med students loiter around the front reception desk of the hospital, gossiping and giggling over who knew what. It was likely his bad mood was from a week long shift of working there, putting up with the rich and ridiculous, but noisy students in his way and not at work was the excuse he’d use if anyone asked why he was barking at them to move on and do something productive.

The fearful nods and hurried footsteps _away_ from him were worth far more than any complaint he might later get from a rich guardian or sponsor, and with an huff he continued on his way to get some lunch, praying that his shift might end soon and he could be back home with Drift, exploring the freshly painted frame he’d barely even managed to get a glimpse of in the last week, with work taking up more or less his entire time.

He’d even resorted to crashing overnight in his office once, though the message from reception the next day, from Drift asking where he was and if he was okay and coming back, was more than enough to see him in his real berth the following nights, the brief glimpse of his drone almost a balm to the headache of his working day. Frag but it was pathetic, that the highlight of his day was the sight of his overly expensive cleaning-organising-interface aid, and he frowned into his cup of energon when he realised he didn’t much care. A happy face to greet him was nice, even if it was just a fancy computer.

His musings were cut short however, by an emergency level comm; high profile patient, critical condition, all hands on deck and Ratchet was overseeing the whole show. Within seconds he was out the canteen door, activating his sirens and transforming down to speed along to the emergency room at record speed, while he mentally read over the facts being sent to him as they were learnt. Senator Higharch, attacked by an unknown suspect, extensive damage to the chest and spark chamber, presumed weapon was some sort of knife. His vital statistics followed, and Ratchet sped up just that little bit faster.

As he transformed up and burst into the room, already shouting orders, he could see the damage clearly for himself. It was a wonder the mech was alive, what with the deep open wound piercing his spark chamber, and he could see the blemish on the spark itself where the knife had barely missed it. Instantly he was next to his patient and in control, hands moving at a fast and controlled pace to try and stabilise the spark, while assistants removed non-essential plating and kibble in an effort to clear his working area.

It wasn’t exactly a routine operation, but he knew exactly what to do and easily fell into the motions; pinch a line here, remove shards there, bring in the life support and hook him up while he worked on coaxing the spark in his hands back to life. The world around him slipped to a secondary awareness, where he knew he was listening and talking the situation through, but his entire focus was on the job at hand.

At some point he was aware of those annoying students coming to watch, though he didn’t shoo them away, instead asked for an extra clamp, and with a few more twists and pinches, and the steady energy of the support bolstering his own work, the pulse of the life in his hands evened out, and eventually slowed to a natural, calm whirr.

Like a flood, the dimmed noise of the room roared to life in his audios, sounds he’d ignored during the operation now screeching for his attention, and after delicately removing his hands from his patient he angrily waved at the room to quiet and be still, orders which were followed with a quick hush.

“Stable. He’s stable. Tetra, have the drones clean him down, prepare him for viewing by the police department, who I just _know_ are barely being contained at reception. He’ll be offline for a few hours, but we’ll bring him around for simple questions and a check up later tonight.” Ratchet waved the students out of his way as he walked around the senator’s frame, wiping off his hands as he checked from every angle. “Quickstitch, where’s his medical rec- ah, thank you.” With a nod he checked it over, filled in what was needed and what the upcoming treatment would be, essentially bed rest and then a simple rebuild, and handed it back. When everything was done and stable, and everyone knew what was going on, he cleaned off his hands properly in the sink, and pushed out the door, ready to collapse.

Ratchet checked his chronometer, and jolted when he realised he’d been in surgery for literally hours. It had felt like barely minutes, but oh how time flew when he was elbow deep in someone’s chest.

He needed a drink, and to speak with whoever was running this from the police’s side, and then he’d happily crash out in his office for a while until he had to bring the senator back online.

“You like it spiced right?” He nearly fell over, though he did yelp with surprise when a cube was presented to him, and a warm voice chuckled next to him. Shooting a glare, he was surprised yet undoubtedly pleased to see Orion Pax smiling down at him, cubes in both hands and a police report tucked in the crook of one arm.

“You never cease to amaze me Pax. Come on, we can talk in my office.”

* * *

The news wasn’t good. Senator Higharch had been attacked outside an ‘exclusive bar’, the sort that offered expensive drinks and pretty frames to gawk at, or pretty frames to service you if you waved the right amount of credits in their direction. More alarming that the mild scandal however, was the fact that his drone had been stolen in the process, suggesting it was a targeted attack of violence by anti-drone protestors.

And if there was a drone that fully encompassed the opulence and ostentatiousness of the upper classes and their luxuries, it was Mirage. A beautiful frame to be sure, and one only enhanced by layers upon layers of intricate details, and the finest work and parts money could buy. There were rumours about how much that drone had cost, but they didn’t last long, for Higharch wasn’t shy about displaying his wealth, nor dropping rather specific hints as to how much each individual part or new custom paint job cost.

The worth of the golden filigree around its optics alone was enough to make Ratchet feel disgusted with the world. Even worse, at a party a few months back Higharch had unveiled his new addition to his toy; an experimental cloaking device, one of a kind and worth more money than Ratchet would ever see in his millennia long life. Higharch had just smiled and treated it like it was merely a toy, a parlour trick to entertain his guests, rather than the scientific breakthrough it truly represented.

Sometimes Ratchet wished he could let a patient die, if only to right a few wrongs in the world by getting rid of one of the blemishes upon it, but he was sworn to heal and save, and heal he would, even if he wanted to punch himself for it afterwards.

“This whole situation is a fragging mess Pax.” Ratchet was slouched back in his chair, empty cube dangling from one hand as he pinched his nasal ridge with the other.

“Indeed. The lower classes are getting restless and unruly, and for good reason.” All Ratchet could do was groan is agreement. It was hard to tell those living in poverty that they were trying to help, when they kept onlining new fancy pet drones to take up the menial work that might have otherwise been on offer for people to scrape by with. It was nothing new, but in recent years the expanding gap between rich and poor was only exacerbated when those rich kept laying off workers and implementing drones in their places.

All of course leading to a number of cases of property damage against drones, and a fair number being stolen or found offlined, though nothing yet could compare to Mirage being taken and possibly destroyed as well, and the press was going to have an absolute field day with the story.

“Sometimes I seriously consider emigrating out to one of the furthest colonies away from this pit.”

“I fear I can understand your sentiments, but until then, there’s still work to be done.” And as Pax said, it was time to go wake up his patient and try not to instantly want to kill him.

* * *

“What a waste of time.” Ratchet grumbled as he filled in yet more paperwork for his patient, while Orion looked over his own notes from the few questions he’d been able to ask before Higharch had fallen back into a groggy recharge. He hadn’t seen the attacker, hadn’t even heard them, and they were at completely the wrong angle that the event might have been caught on security camera. All they had to go on was the gaping hole in his chest, and the fact that his drone was missing with only a few blue and white paint scrapings against a wall to suggest a struggle.

“Perhaps, but perhaps not. Hopefully the team will have more information in the morning.” Orion levelled him with a _look_. “For now though, I hope you’re not planning on staying here much longer. I heard from the nurse that your shift ended 5 hours ago, and while I know there was an emergency-”

“Yeah yeah, I’m going home. Pits, you’re one to talk- how many times has Roller complained to me about you sleeping at your desk?” Orion didn’t answer, just smiled and motioned towards reception. “Do you want to come back to mine for a bit? Got some high grade and a new toy you must have heard about by now.”

“Ah yes, your drone. I heard it was a gift from a friend, how are you finding it?” And wasn’t that the million shanix question.

“It’s attractive, dutiful. Bit slow sometimes, and it’s got some bad leftover habits from previous owners, but its getting less glitchy by the day.” He thought to where he’d last seen Drift before heading to work for the day, cleaning out the crates in his closet. “Sometimes… I can pretend it’s real, you know? And that’s nice, until reality comes crashing down around me.”

“Ah, yes I’ve heard it’s a common problem, especially with personal drones. Please tell me if you ever think you’re developing feelings for it, I’d hate to see you in one of the gossip networks amongst the other uh, unfortunates.”

‘Unfortunates’ of course being Orion’s polite way of saying ‘fragging crazy idiots’. It was one thing to enjoy the company of a drone and use it in the berth, it was a completely different case if he started trying to woo it, and convince himself it loved him back or whatever slag went through a mech’s mind.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know.” After saying goodbye to the mech on reception, they push out the doors and transformed, joining the traffic on their way to Ratchet’s home. They chatted over short range comms while they drove, mostly Orion commenting on different businesses they saw since the last time he was there, and speculating on how the news would handle the Higharch case. Before too long, they were at his apartment building, and in the lift up, both silently observing the city below their feet.

As the lift door opened into the spacious reception before his real front door, Ratchet gave Pax the brief history of his drone.

“It’s called Drift. It was a mess when it was given to me, and I’ve fixed it up nicely enough. You’re the first stranger it’s meeting at home though, so just stand back in case it’s got some sort of weird protocols for dealing with you.”

“Are you expecting any problems?”

“Not really, but its previous owners used it for some fragged up stuff, so who knows what it might have lurking in its programming.” He pushed the door open, expecting to see Drift in the middle of some work or cleaning, and was taken aback when there was nothing out of place except a stray parcel on the dining table. He waved Orion inside, and closed the door.

“Drift?” No answer, but after a few steps into the room he noticed the drone hovering just nearly out of sight in the doorway to his berthroom. “Everything okay? I’ve brought a friend back, this is Orion Pax.” Again no answer, but when he stopped to look at Drift properly, the drone finally moved, shuffling over to him while it huddled in on itself and something it was clasping in its hands. “…Drift?”

“I… I’m sorry.” It didn’t look up at him, but brought its hands away from its chest, presenting to Ratchet what looked like the shattered remains of one of his more delicate high grade flutes. “It broke, I was trying to clean it but I broke it. I’m sorry.” It was on the verge of resorting to clicks and beeps with some sort of distress, and Ratchet felt uncomfortable with how close to breaking down it looked, wondering where in the pit this behaviour had been learnt. 

“Uh, it’s okay. Just toss it in the bin and get me and Orion a cube of high grade each. The stuff from Praxus.” He shook his head when it nodded and scurried off, and motioned Orion over to the sitting area. “Told you it was a bit glitchy but it’s getting better I guess.” Orion watched it prepare their drinks, humming appreciatively at the sight.

“You did a good job on it though, and those glitches will even out in time I’m sure.” Ratchet watched him gingerly settle on a seat, his frame just a little too large for the standard mid-size category Ratchet and most of the rest of the population belonged to. When Drift brought their drinks over, Orion accepted it with a small smile and a word of thanks, and then watched as it hurried out of their line of sight. Ratchet himself just took the cube and nodded, though discreetly watched it fidget for a while, checking to see if its issues were affecting it much more. After a few moments hovering in a corner, it eventually crept off back to the dining area, and came back with the stray parcel Ratchet had seen earlier.

“Master, this arrived for you.” It handed it over and stood for a moment, but hurried back to its corner when Ratchet waved it off.

Ratchet recognised the ridiculously elaborate choice of font and glyphs denoting his full name and title, and he could practically feel the sarcastic drawl coming from the package. Pharma, and it was presumably the energon treats he’d said he’d send, and with his present company they couldn’t have arrived at a better time.

He opened the box carefully, and upon seeing the contents immediately shut it.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just… Pharma in general.” There were the treats alright, though sitting happily on top of them was an O-ring gag and a note; ‘For your new pet. Have fun~’. He opened it carefully, slipped a hand in to pull the treats out, and shut it back up without looking at Orion. “Drift, take this to my room.” And while Drift obeyed, he cracked open the treats and offered first pick to Orion, who took one of the sweeter ones as he knew he would. He picked out a sour one for himself, and set the box on the low table before slouching back comfortably.

“These are good, extend my thanks to Pharma.”

“Fragger doesn’t need his ego inflating any more than it already is. Anyway, we’ve talked business and caught up on my pathetic excuse of a love life, how’s yours doing.” He smiled into his cube when Orion blushed right up to his audial fins and scoffed another treat to put off answering. He didn’t last long under Ratchet’s patient stare though.

“There’s… A mech, in Tarn. He’s written some fairly controversial works which caught my attention, and when I approached him online he seemed… He’s nice, intelligent and opinionated. We’re meeting next week.”

“Tarn though, that’s a rough place.” He knew Orion could handle himself, but he also knew his tastes tended towards ‘big and industrial’, and if he was some sort of military build then it was worth doing a background check.

“Yes but, I don’t know.. He seems so different than anyone else I’ve met, and his work is really inspiring.”

“Work?”

“Uh, slightly more… Controversial writings.” 

“What’s it about?” There was controversial because it was an unpopular opinion, and there was _controversial_ that could end up with prison time or death. When Orion didn’t answer immediately, he knew it was probably the latter. “Orion…”

“Well, he has written poetry…”

“Orion!”

“He’s unhappy with the class system, and how the world works for those not born into privilege. He’s written a treatise on it all, and has ideas about change and they’re just so _interesting_ Ratchet, you can’t argue that there’s nothing wrong with the way mechs are treated.”

He couldn’t. It was easy to claim the world was perfect when you only saw the nice bits- since he’d been in the Dead End though, his viewpoints had been shifting rapidly and though he would probably agree with this mystery mech, he was still wary. He glowered at his empty cube a moment, though was shaken out of it when Drift appeared out of nowhere to refill it.

“I agree with you Orion, but please be careful about this. I don’t want to watch my friend tried for treason or whatever they would hit you with.” 

“It’ll be fine Ratchet, and I’ll let you know how he is once I’ve met him in person. If he’s an insane fool, then I can ditch him and we can laugh about it over a drink.” With Ratchet’s grudging rumble of acceptance they moved the subject onto lighter topics, chatting until it was time for Orion to return to his station, lest he not get enough recharge to deal with the mess that was going to happen in the morning.

* * *

By the time Drift had finished clearing their cubes away, Ratchet knew he was ready to recharge, though it didn’t stop him poking at the box of treats a little more. He’d eaten all the ones he liked, and Orion didn’t care to eat much in one go, so there was a fair amount left that he didn’t know what to do with. He briefly entertained the idea of giving them to his co-workers, though knew they’d probably sneer at being given someone else’s leftovers, but they wouldn’t last until the next time Orion visited or he worked at the clinic.

Well, fuel was fuel, and he called Drift over.

“Here, you can eat these. No more than two a day, in case your fuel tank is too sensitive.” Drift stared at him a moment, and then at the treats which it accepted with both hands.

“T-thank you master.” Ratchet watched it gingerly pick one out and pop it into its mouth, smirking when it froze and shivered a little. Yeah, definitely too rich for its frame, but it’d hopefully get used to it.

“Anyway, go recharge, I’m back at the hospital in the morning so I need to get some rest.”

“Master do you want me…” _To pleasure you_. It trailed off, likely remembering the last time Ratchet had reacted negatively, but these days Ratchet wasn’t feeling quite so disgusted with the prospect of bedding it again.

He thought to the O-ring gag Pharma has sent him, and while he didn’t want to use it tonight and end up accidentally thinking about Pharma, he did wonder about his own box of toys buried in his closet somewhere. He nodded and motioned to his berth room, following behind the drone.

“While cleaning, did you find that box I said I was looking for?”

“The one with the uh, ropes and things? I can fetch it for you.” And Ratchet watched it do so, and quietly marvelled at how pristine and organised the inside of his closet looked these days. It handed it over without a word, though quietly looked on to see what Ratchet would choose, and now that he was spoilt for choice the medic had no real idea what he was in the mood for. He was tired, but looking to let off some steam, so while he didn’t want to be tying Drift up in lengths of intricate ropes and knots, he did want to bind it up and watch Drift writhe under his hands.

“Lie back on the berth.” And where a real lover might have shot him some flirty grin, Drift was blank as it settled back, waiting for the next orders, and though the lack of a reaction was still unnerving, the obedience was definitely nice. He settled himself, sat at the foot of the berth with the box to one side, and gently pulled one of Drift’s feet into his lap, stroking the delicate ankle and humming as he flexed the arch of the foot in his hands, playing and manipulating as Drift patiently watched on. When he could feel the metal warming slightly under his sensitive hands, and could see Drift relaxing its frame, he reached into the box and pulled out a chunky cuff, and snapped it around the ankle. It was a special type, similar to stasis cuffs in a way, but it emitted a constant low level charge, enough to keep the limb feeling sensitive, but still allowing free movement.

Or, it _would_ allow free movement, if he didn’t just magnetise it to the bottom corner of his berth.

He repeated himself exactly with the other foot, and when that too was magnetised down he finally looked up to take in the view of spread thighs, and Drift’s dimmed optics as it watched. It was heating up already, and though it wasn’t yet struggling for cool air, its mouth was open and it was inventing more heavily than Ratchet expected, but that was nowhere near a problem.

He grabbed the last two cuffs, then moved up to kneel between its thighs, taking a moment to tease and stroke over bared hip components, before getting back to the matter at hand. As gently as before, he picked up one of Drift’s hands from where it was resting near its helm and massaged it like he had its feet, pressing hard against the palm, stroking each finger and kneading at the wrist. Like before it eventually heated and relaxed, and Ratchet felt himself relax a little with it, though in contrast his spike was beginning to awaken behind his panel, when he snapped the cuff on and pinned it down to just above Drift’s helm, allowing the drone some measure of room to wriggle. Again the other hand was massaged and stuck down, and then Ratchet stroked down Drift’s arms before moving to its neck, fondly touching the collar and healed neck cables.

“You ever do much kissing?” He spoke quietly, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and lack of tension for the moment. He rubbed a main neck cable with his thumb as it shook its head.

“Not much master. Mechs in the Dead End don’t like it, too um… Intimate?”

“I imagine it is.” He leant down, keeping himself propped up with one arm while he used his other hand to race along Drift’s helm, running a thumb under its optic before moving on to drag up a finial. “You’ll pick it up soon enough.” He started with a press of his lips to Drift’s audial fin, before moving down until he was kissing its jaw, peppering light brushes along it until he reached its lips, where he lightly pushed against them until Drift hesitantly pushed back. Smiling, he pressed a little harder, pleased when Drift copied, and hummed appreciatively when Drift managed to settle into a rhythm with him. “You’re doing good Drift.” He whispered against its lips, and then pushed back again before the drone could reply, angling his head to deepen the kiss and stroke along its lips with his glossa. After a few coaxing licks, Drift’s own glossa flicked out to meet his, and before too long he’d managed to get Drift to kiss properly, still a little awkward at times, but it’d learn with practice, and Ratchet was more than willing to teach it.

He pulled back, wiped the sheen of fluids from Drift’s lips with his thumb, and then pressed a final soft kiss to its open mouth.

“With more practice, you’ll be great at this.”

“T-thank you master.” It was lax and a looked a little blissed out under him, but Ratchet’s spike was straining and his valve clenching, so it wasn’t time to recharge just yet. As he sat back, he trailed his hands over Drift’s torso and waist, absently appreciating the way his hands fit perfectly over its hips, and grinning at the way it wriggled and pushed up into his touch as he neared its interface array. With his thumbs he rubbed over its spike housing.

“Keep this away for now, okay?”

“Y-yes master.”

“Good boy.” An oh, that absently uttered phrase brought all sorts of new ideas, of Drift truly acting like his pet; on a leash, eating from his hand and begging without words for a taste of his transfluid. His spike surged and both his panels clicked aside, his spike rising as his thoughts ignited his frame, and under him Drift tried just a little harder to push into his touch, as though it would get it spiked faster. Maybe he could get one of those false spikes with the fake tail attachment, and dress Drift up like a tame turbofox, have him follow him around on its hands and knees. He’d seen others do it- lewd displays were illegal in public, which meant the drones probably just had toys hiding behind their array panels, but there was no law stopping a mech from having their pet following on all fours if the owner wished. Though it meant walking anywhere could take a while.

But he was getting ahead of himself, and for now should have been focusing on the way Drift was eagerly whining for him.

He arranged them so that Drift’s aft was in his lap, hips tilted up to give him the best view of its valve, beads of lubricant already leaking out the edges of its modesty panel. He rubbed against the hot plating, smiling when Drift whimpered louder, and enjoying the sight and way the thighs around him tensed and rubbed.

“Open up.” The drone wasted no time in obeying, and Ratchet was equally quick in dipping two fingers inside, moaning himself at the sensation when Drift clenched tightly around the intrusion. He sunk his fingers in as deeply as his knuckles would allow him, scissoring them and pressing against any nodes he could find. With the other hand, he blindly rummaged in the box still behind him, and reluctantly pulled himself away from the sight of that dripping valve, in order to see what he was looking for. There, under a neatly coiled length of soft rope, was one of a few discreet mesh bags, this one containing a rather unique toy, which clinked together as he pulled it out, much to his own pleasure and Drift’s apparent confusion. Setting the bag to the side, he also pulled out a tube of artificial lubricant, and reluctantly removed his fingers from where they were molesting the swollen lips of Drift’s valve.

“ _Master_ …” The trailing moan sounded desperate, and Ratchet could swear he felt his spike twitch in response.

“Hush, just need you full of lubricant for this to work better.” With a flick to open the cap lid, he nudged the end of the tube into Drift’s valve, and squeezed nearly half the the contents inside. It was a special lubricant, designed to stimulate whatever plating it touched, and as Ratchet used his fingers to make sure it evenly filled and coated the inside of Drift’s valve, he could feel the tingle working though his own plating, only raking his charge up further. Judging by the way Drift’s hips twitched and its thighs clamped around his waist, the drone was feeling it too. “Overload if you need to by the way, we’re not playing that game today.”

Drift just nodded fervently, and watched with bright optics as Ratchet tossed the tube back in the box, swiped excess lubricant over its exterior nub, and picked up the mesh bag to dig around inside, the _clinkclinkclink_ obviouslyunfamiliar to it. Carefully, Ratchet pulled out a handful of small, metal balls, each one perhaps the same size as the tip of his finger, and with one hand he spread Drift open while he slowly eased them inside it, half pouring and half pushing. One handful done, he grabbed another, and halfway though pushing them in, Drift made a low keening noise, its frame trembling.

“Still a few more to go yet, then we’ll get to the fun part.” In fact, Ratchet was already having fun, taking his time and indulging himself in the aroused frame under him, and loving the way Drift’s vocaliser hitched and spit static whenever he spread it a little wider. Another handful, and he was halfway done, and he sank a finger inside to check he could feel the beads pressing against him when he swirled the tip of his finger around, and he estimated another two handfuls would be the right amount. By the last handful, Drift’s fans were loud and Ratchet had to pinch his own spike to stave of his overload.

“M-master, please!” Drift somehow managed to form words, though they were mostly static.

“You’re doing good, so good.” He leant over to kiss it, though made sure to keep its hips titled up, lest the beads fall out and be a chore to find and clear up. “So beautiful and such a good boy for me, such a good pet.” He indulged a moment in the idea of making Drift hold the beads in its valve, while it followed him around on a leash, but his throbbing array brought him back to the present fairly quickly.

The near final part, which he found near the top of the box, was a small plug, wide but short, and would give enough stretch while still allowing the beads inside Drift to move around freely. He eased it in slowly, Drift almost sobbing at the stretch, and once it was in he flicked and nudged it a few times to check it would stay put. Drift was almost wailing, but the plug didn’t budge, and Ratchet gently eased Drift’s hip down a little, and could tell the beads shifted by the way its frame tensed up and trembled under his hands.

He watched Drift twitch for a while, knowing for himself how the feeling of the beads rolling and pressing over each other could be overwhelming, and also knowing how much more intense it was with the tingly lubricant easing their way and making all the inner nodes overly sensitive to the slightest touch. He felt he could watch for hours, but he did have to get _some_ recharge that night, so going back to the box he pulled out a specially designed case, within which was a strong magnet specifically designed for the beads, that would attract or repel them even through the thick plating of a military build. Through the thinner plating of a civilian frame such as Drift’s or Ratchet’s, the feeling and strength of the pull was only more intense.

He began by placing it over the handle of the plug, drawing down most of the beads inside in order to even the distribution out a tad, and instantly found that he had to hold Drift’s hips down with the other hand when it bucked and shouted under him. Grinning, he slowly drew the magnet over and along its array, until it was pressed just below its spike housing, the beads inside jostling and pulling tight against its sensitive frontal nodes, as well as the recessed spike hidden inside. Pressing Drift’s hips down, he tugged the magnet away from its plating, the force pulling the beads harshly inside, before they fell out of the magnetic range, and relaxed and redistributed themselves, and Ratchet took great delight in doing it a handful of times while Drift tried to kick and wriggle both away and into the intense pressure.

“Overload when you can.” He slipped the magnet under its aft, causing Drift to arch and grind down hard onto Ratchet’s spike, and he rubbed circles with it a few times before bringing it back to the front, where he lazily stroked it up and down, knowing the steady, rhythmic pressure would drive Drift to overload sooner. When he held it over its spike housing, the drone couldn’t stop itself from opening its modesty panel, and as its spike rose to meet the air, Drift started babbling at him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry master, I didn’t mean- it’s too much I’m sor-ahh!” It dissolved back into static when Ratchet brought the hand that was pinning it up, to instead tug and play over its length, jerking it off in time with the movements of the beads moving within it.

“You held out longer that I thought you would.” He could feel it in the way the spike throbbed in his palm, that it was seconds from overloading, and with a sharp tug on the magnet, as well as a twist of his hands, Drift was crying out, shaking in its bonds as it shook and thrashed beneath him in overload. As its cries broke off into breathy sobs, Ratchet once again leaned over to kiss it, licking its lax mouth and nuzzling it as it calmed down. “Wonderful, you’re learning at a fantastic speed.”

Sitting up, he wished he had an external camera to properly capture the image in front of him, though made do with snapping a couple of low quality internal shots. Leaving the magnet to sit just below its spike, Ratchet clambered out from under it, and repositioned himself so that he was straddling its thighs instead.

“I’m gonna need this again though.” He ran a hand up the slightly softer spike, running a palm though its own fluids to smear back up and down its length. It didn’t take long to harden again, and Ratchet himself didn’t need any preparation. With a brief repositioning, he was kneeling above it, smirking at Drift’s amazed expression as he ran its spike head around the entrance to his valve. With no warning, he snapped his hips back to take the head, and sank down, filling himself entirely in one thrust and relishing the feeling of being full. Sitting back, he propped himself up with one arm, while the other groped around and found the magnet again, clumsily circling it over Drift’s plating. Were he with a lover, the dual sensations and perfect sight of his stretched valve would probably be more than enough to topple the mech into overload again. As it was, Drift’s optics glanced down, but it seemed more concerned with not leaving his face, and Ratchet wasn’t complaining, enjoying watching its face twitch and come undone for the second time.

It didn’t take long to get himself near overload, riding Drift hard and occasionally giving his own spike a few strokes. When he felt closer to the edge, he slipped the magnet under Drift’s aft, and put all his focus into his movements, dragging up slowly before sinking down in a hard thrust. With one hand working over his spike, the other sucking at his own fingers, it took hardly any time at all for him to overload, moaning into his own hand when he felt Drift’s transfluid filling him, clearly another overload being set off by the tight clench of his valve. As he came to, all he could hear was their fans whirring, working hard to cool them down a fraction, and Ratchet’s own heavy invents were dwarfed by the drone’s, along with its low moans.

With a heave, he was off and collapsing next to Drift. And once he’d recovered enough he reached up to undo its arms, tossing the cuffs to the floor, and with a struggle sat up to reach its feet, before falling back. He was out of practice if such a short session of riding a mech had him so worn out, but he hoped it was because he’d also had a long and stressful day. Ratchet was nearly in recharge when the drone’s quiet voice broke the relative silence.

“Master do you want me to stay?” He didn’t even have to think about it, just nodded sleepily.

“Put that toy box on the floor, then yeah come back here.” He’d sort the rest of the mess out later, especially as getting all the beads out could take a while, and he’d rather have the drone do it in the morning, or do it after work the next day. He watched with dim optics as Drift awkwardly stood, leaving the toys inside its frame, but putting everything else back in the box, including the magnet. When the box was put neatly on the floor, Drift slowly crawled back onto the berth, careful not to jostle the beads inside too much, and when it settled next to Ratchet it took a lot of care not to touch the medic with its dirty frame or depressurising spike. Ratchet, however, wasn’t having any of that, and tugged it closer, the both of them hissing when their still sensitive spikes bumped together, and when Drift couldn’t position its legs easily with the toy jutting between them, Ratchet just pulled its leg over his hip and wrapped an arm around its back. Like the first night, Drift was slow in hugging back, but it did, and the warm embrace was more than enough to have Ratchet dozily initiating recharge.


	8. Mistakes Are Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I /finally/ got off my arse and bashed this out
> 
> Next chapter is already underway, and I'm loving it so hopefully I'll be able to update soon~
> 
> Specific warnings for this chapter: Minor character death and a touch of domestic violence :(

Onlining the next day, Ratchet could feel before even lighting his optics that something strange was happening. He kept still, and  focussed on his surroundings a moment, and  a lazy smirk grew across his face when he realised what had woken him; Drift, clutching tightly at his chest, and venting heavily as it ground its spike against Ratchet’s thigh, occasionally catching and rubbing along Ratchet’s own spike, which he wasn’t at all surprised to find was erect and enjoying itself without him. With a sleepy mumble he tugged Drift closer, ignoring the squeak of surprise, and managed to arrange themselves so that it was lying half draped on his chest, freeing up his other arm enough to wrap around Drift’s back, so that he could slip his free one between their bodies.

“Master?” Its voice was still heavy with static from recharging. Ratchet fumbled slightly, but soon had a firm grip on both of their spikes, and he sighed as he worked them both over, the glide of his hand and the rub of the other hot spike more than enough to crank up his charge until he was on the edge. A whimper from Drift threw him over it, and he kept stroking through his own overload until he felt Drift join him, the drone’s low warble at odds with his own rough grunt. He kissed its helm before he let go, and with a stretch he managed to drag himself from the berth, and the tempting thing in it. It was a struggle not to watch Drift as it twitched with aftershocks, and he knew if he stayed much longer he was never going to leave, and that a quick fumble would end up with him spending the entire day in the berth. 

“I need to be at the hospital early. Clean yourself and the berth off, then just… Do whatever it is you do during the day.” His own mess was sorted with a quick wipe with a cloth, and thankfully their little quickie hadn’t left any scuffs on him.

“W-what about the uh, the beads master?” Oh, those. He’d completely forgotten, and though it explained why Drift was revved up, they’d have to wait until he got back.

“Don’t touch them for now, I’ll sort it out when I get back. Though if your frame gets too charged because of them just… Sort yourself out.” Drift looked confused, and Ratchet really didn’t have time for this. “Masturbate? Self service? Frag what did they teach you. There’s instructional and information ‘pads in the office, and there’ll be info on the console, just… Look it up, I need to go.”

“…Goodbye master… Have a nice day.”

“Uh… Yeah, you too.” He wasn’t sure where it had learnt _that_ , but it was hardly something to complain about, and he’d forgotten it by the time he’d left his apartment.

* * *

“Move. Now.” The gate to the hospital was swarming with newsbots. Security was doing a well enough job keeping them all from the hospital itself, but he wished they could have rounded them up someplace further away, though likely the next city over wouldn’t be far enough for his peace of mind. He couldn’t even tell properly what they were babbling at him with the way they shouting over each other, though it was almost certainly question about Higharch’s state, and like pit was he going to break confidentiality to a bunch of squawking idiots, and he told them as such when he squeezed through the gate.

Waving through a chorus of ‘good mornings’ as he strode through reception, he grabbed a cube from the canteen and headed straight  to Higharch’s private room, where he found the senator propped up and speaking to Orion and a couple of other enforcers he’d never met. He was silently handed the mech’s chart by a medic drone, and a look through told him there’d been no problems in the night. Still, it was polite to ask himself, and he waited for Orion to pause their conversation before he butted in.

“How’re you feeling senator?” He took a look over IV lines and checked the current read outs, and everything looked fine.

“Angry, more than anything, though physically I guess I’m fine. The pain meds seem to be doing their job.” Ratchet made an answering noise as he checked over the patch on Higharch’s chest.

“Well, everything appears to be healing very well, and we should be able to start work on rebuilding your chest plate, as well as other cosmetic damage in the next couple of days. After that, it’ll be a dip in the CR chamber, but until then, I’m afraid it’s a lot of bed rest and medical grade energon.” He was halfway through writing notes, when Orion made a strange noise, and he looked up to see the senator looking more than a little annoyed. “Is that a problem?”

Orion was kind enough to answer before Higharch could speak a word.

“Senator Higharch wishes to address the newsbots directly.”

“You want me to let that swarm of gossipmongers into my hospital?”

“Hardly.” Higharch waved Orion to stand away. “I shan’t be seen like this, lying in bed like some degenerate. I’ll be addressing them directly, outside and on my own two feet. The world needs to hear about this, and I need to send a message to my attackers that they haven’t killed me, and they’ll not get away with stealing my drone either.”

“Senator…” Orion was at a loss for words, but Ratchet definitely wasn’t.

“You expect me to allow you to go outside, put yourself through the fragging ordeal of a public speech and the questioning that will go along with it, when you were damn halfway to guttering last night, and _still_ have a slaggin’ hole in your chest the size of of a titan’s fist? Is your processor rusting or something?”

“You’ll watch your tone with me, _medic_.” Ratchet ignored Higharch’s sneer, having been subjected to far more intimidating ones in his life.

“And you’ll listen to this medic, because he knows what needs to be done to keep you stable and healthy. If you walk out there, and good luck with _that_ , I’m taking no responsibility if you screw yourself up.”

“I don’t need your permission-“

“Yes you fraggin-“

“And you will comply with this order, and you will see to it that I am made presentable enough to be seen.”

“Not. Likely.”

* * *

In the end he had no choice but to comply, after a few ‘suggestions’ from some of the managers, and he had a couple of med students fix him up, and he signed off with the firm disclaimer that it was highly against his advice, and made clear that his arm was being twisted to the point of breaking the joints. For now, he was standing at the back of their little crowd, close enough that he could keep an eye on Higharch, but far back enough that he didn’t have to pay much attention to the nonsense he was spewing.

“Fifty shanix he gets too tired to answer questions.” Orion’s voice perked up from his left, and he tried hard to hide his smile, failing miserably.

“Since when did you recognise the signs of fatigue? I’ll bet one hundred that he collapses.”

“During or after his speech, do you think?”

“I’m crossing my fingers for ‘during’. Bit of humiliation would serve the fragger right.” He shifted on his feet, and recrossed his arms, long having given up on trying to look like he wanted to be there. “Do you want to go for a drink after this, or too busy?”

“Too busy I think, we don’t all have a hospital full of underlings to delegate to.”

“Don’t need my ‘magic’ hands to build some basic chest armour, and those brats need to learn.” To his immense relief, it sounded like the senator was starting to wrap things up, and the crowd of reporters were pressing in to begin their questioning. He scrubbed a hand over tired optics and willed it to go faster, and was about to ask Orion more about his mystery lover when a resounding _crack_ filled the air.

The crowd hushed, and another _crack_ , seemingly came from the crowd, and both Orion and Ratchet were halfway to edging closer when Senator Higharch crumpled to the floor, energon suddenly rushing from under his frame. Before the crowd could even start screaming, Ratchet was at the senator’s side, flipping him to his back to assess the damage, and all it took was a glance to know the mech was dead, one bullet entry point through the flimsy chest covering, another through the helm, and the way he could see the plating corroding before his eyes suggested it was something nasty, and lethal.

Not that it stopped him trying against all hope, though as quickly as his hands worked, there was nothing to be done when he cracked open his chestplates, and the spark chamber had been completely eaten through with some sort of acid.

He became aware of shouting, and looked up to find Orion and his small team had pushed the reporters back, and his own team of nurses and drones had come out to help barricade the area, as well as bring a tarp to hide the senator’s frame. At his solemn nod and warning of the corrosive substance, they covered him up where he lay. Ratchet wanted to carry him inside, but he knew Orion would chew him out if he disturbed the crime scene.

After handling the crowd, Orion soon came back to check on things, and upon seeing Ratchet shake his head, just let out a sigh and ordered the area completely cleared.

“Well, this day couldn’t get any worse.” Ratchet huffed while he let a drone clean off of hands, getting rid of any trace of the corrosive acid.

“Hmm, and I guess I owe you a hundred shanix now too.”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up so soon, but damn right you do.”

* * *

The rest of Ratchet’s day was long and awful, and full of a lot of shouting and thinly veiled threats, from both him and the medical council. In the end, once the body had been handed over to the coroner, and his report handed in, he was dismissed on paid leave, and it was heavily suggested he work on making it look like he wasn’t in league with any anti-drone organisations. Which meant less time at the clinic, and more time strolling around the upper levels of town with Drift, making small talk with senators and fellow professionals, and commenting loudly and clearly how repulsed and shocked was.

That dumb nonsense could wait for the morning though. All Ratchet wanted to do when he got in was drink his weight in high grade, until he couldn’t feel his face and the world stopped being terrible. He practically stormed into his flat, ignoring Drift who’d been waiting by the door, and went straight to the cupboard to pick out several cubes of high grade, not bothering with anything as sophisticated as a glass.

“Uh, good evening master?”

“Like pit it is. Leave me alone.”

 By the time he’d collapsed onto the sofa, he’d already swigged half a cube, and wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon.

He finished the first cube in record time, though it didn’t help his mood any, especially not with Drift hovering nearby. And frag, but he logically knew his drone had nothing to do with his terrible day, but it was annoying the pit out of him just by being there and representing so many things he hated with the world. Drones. The rich elites and the scores of mechs in poverty, and the damn idiots in parliament not having a clue, and now it was all starting to kick off and he was involved, and frag but if there weren’t drones then maybe everyone would be a lot better off.

And that wasn’t even touching on his pathetic excuse for a love life. Too busy fixing up the broken guttermechs to have a real social life, too busy trying to make a difference to get laid, so here he was with a damn drone of his own, dumped on him and taking up the space for an assistant and a lover, while real mechs died in the streets.

It didn’t matter how flawed he knew his thoughts were, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking them, spiralling down into a pit of anger at the world and the fact that he was hardly making a difference, and when that fragging drone stepped close again he just snapped.

“Master can I ge-ahHH!” It clutched its face when Ratchet was suddenly standing over it, drink knocked to the floor and his fist hurting a little from a poorly landed blow.

“Just shut the hell up! I don’t need you hovering all the fragging time, and I don’t need you doing this pitiful act of pain and panic whenever I walk in the room! It’s sickening and you’re a damn mess, and pits but I should’ve just scrapped you when Pharma dumped you on me. Get the frag out of here! Waste of space and fuel, just get out of my fraggin’ sight!” He growled and swayed as he advanced on the drone, but it had already huddled in on itself and started backing away the second he’d begun shouting, so by the time Ratchet was steady enough on his feet, it had already hidden in ‘its’ room, door sliding shut behind it.

Not as far away as he really wanted it, but at least it was out of sight, giving him some privacy to get himself well and truly cratered, and complain loudly to himself for the next few hours about everything he hated in the world, and how fed up he was of it all.

* * *

When Ratchet awoke, it was to the smell of his own regurgitated energon, and the feeling of a stiff back and dry throat. He’d somehow passed out on the sofa, though when he took in the sheer number of empty cubes, it was really no surprise, and he was thankful he was on his side and hadn’t managed to choke on his own purged fuel. He was confused for a few moments, until the entirety of yesterday flooded back, and his bad mood only darkened again when he realised what he’d done.

Messed up, and taken it out on Drift, and then sulked for an entire evening. Way to go Ratchet.

It didn’t even matter if Drift was just a drone, he shouldn’t treat any of his stuff like that, especially a horrifically expensive robot that he was trying to teach to be good and helpful. In the best case scenario, he might have taught it to beware overcharged idiots, though it was more likely to have relapsed into old behaviours, judging by where it came from and the way it flinched when struck.

He was an idiot. And he groaned even more when he realised he still had to clean it out and put those toys back, before it either messed itself up with getting too charged, or damaged its array somehow.

He should probably apologise too, if only to teach it how to act after such a mess up, and to at least soothe his own guilt.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself off the sofa, though immediately regretted it when most of his frame seemed to have crimped lines and misaligned plating, and it was with a grunt of effort that he limped over to Drift’s door. Or his door. But he wasn’t using it so whatever.

Inside was dark, and the only light came from the open door, and the two dim specs of light staring at him from under the berth.

So it was option B. Relapsed into old behaviours. What joy.

He tried to be as quiet and slow as possible, leaving the door open so it wouldn’t see itself as trapped, and managed to stand by the berth before it let out a small whimper. He could hear it shaking from up here, and with a shake of his head he crouched down to peer under, and managed to keep his mouth shut when it made another noise and huddled up into a fractionally smaller ball. It hurt to see it like that and all because of him, and even if it was just mimicking someone else, it still wrenched him apart inside and the guilt in his tank felt even heavier.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t try to reach for it, just sort of half crouched, half laid on the floor near it. “I was an idiot, and I got angry, but I shouldn’t have hit you, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I just had a really, really bad day, but even then it’s no excuse, and I’m sorry.” It didn’t move much, though seemed to unball itself a little. “If you come out, I can check that mark, and get those toys out. And I can tell you about my terrible day, and then we can recharge. If you need to recharge alone in here, then of course you can as well.” It felt weird, like asking a datapad how its day was, but it was worth it when Drift unfurled a little and edged closer.

Ratchet was patient, and eventually he found himself with a lap full of drone, his back against the nightstand, while he checked over its face. Thankfully, his punch had just skimmed it, and though there was an unsightly red scuff mark, the small dent would heal by tomorrow, and it would look good as new. Having inspected it, he didn’t move and just lent back against the stand, pulling Drift tighter to his chest, felling immediately calmer when it rested its head over his spark.

“A mech got killed, because I wasn’t firm enough to stop him being an idiot. The one whose drone got stolen. And while he was being a fool and giving a speech outside to the public, someone shot him through the head and spark with two shots, and some sort of weapon designed to punch through military grade armour.” Drift didn’t speak, but looked up when he paused, as if waiting for him to continue. “I’m on paid leave for a while. And they want me to socialise and look like any other upper level professional, which’ll be a pain in itself, but I need to drag you along so it looks like I fully support drones.”

“Do you?” The question was so quiet and unexpected, Ratchet struggled to reply.

“There… Are a lot of mechs, real forged mechs, who are out of work because drones have taken their jobs. And they’re starving and dying, and they want to see change happen, and they want to see the drones gone and the people looked after.”

“Would you get rid of me, master?” And it should have been a hard question, weighing the bonuses each of slave labour and having a real companion, but he was speaking before he could think and the words tumbled out.

“No. No I couldn’t. Despite what I said, I like you. You’re useful and fairly independent, and I can trust you to do what I need. Besides, who’d want to be some grouchy medic’s assistant-cum-berthmate? If you hadn’t noticed, it’s not a very sought after position.”

The drone didn’t say anything to that, just rested its head back on his chest while Ratchet stroked its back.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” And with a fresh strain of effort, he was on his feet again, dragging Drift to the washracks as he grabbed a sieve on his way.

In the washracks, he instructed Drift to crouch and lean against the wall, and with a hiss from the drone, he pulled the plug out, a rush of beads following to be caught in the sieve Ratchet held between its legs. Clean up was rarely sexy, but this was possibly the least aroused Ratchet had felt in days, and as he was brisk as he used two fingers to prod around inside it, looking for any more, and he was glad the drone didn’t seem to be heating up either. Once they were all out, he rinsed them off under the showerhead, and put the bowl to the side to dry off later, and moved back to cleaning up Drift. His touches were quick and methodical, and in no time the two of them were clean and dry, and Ratchet was halfway to his room when it spoke up.

“Master? Can I… Recharge with you?” It was hesitant, but Ratchet nodded and waited for it to shuffle over to him, and neither spoke as they climbed into the berth and settled around each other.

It might have been awkward, but the way they clutched at each other was almost reassuring, and Ratchet was thankful the drone had asked, if only because it mean he had something to cling to during the night.

* * *

A few days later, and Ratchet was on damage control, counting down the minutes until he could escape to the clinic for a few extra hours in the evening. He was already running through the roster of final year students, looking out for someone he could drag in as a proper assistant to cover him, but until then his time was split, and he was secretly very glad for it.

Socialising with the upper classes shouldn’t have been so tiring, but the constant tension and watching his back, looking out for hidden meanings in careful words had him exhausted, and he was glad when the conversation lulled enough that he could escape with a strained, pleasant goodbye. He’d figured it would look far more natural for him to be out shopping with his drone, rather than show up at any parties unannounced, but he quickly realised that even buying the wrong item could turn into a social nightmare if someone didn’t approve. Drift’s collar had already gotten a few interested looks, and he could tell there was likely already gossip going around the commlinks.

He passed the bag of overly expensive treats to Drift to carry- his own subspace was nearly full, and it would do well to have his drone look like it was useful for something, instead of being a lacklustre pet.

And primus was he now aware of how bland Drift looked. Most of his peers at work kept their drones simple and non-descriptive- a scientific assistant didn’t need to look gaudy or have an exquisitely shaped helm, it was functional and discreet. By contrast to them, Drift was beautiful in a subtle way, but watching him stand near overdressed pets the whole day, and he almost wanted to apologise. Which was ridiculous, but he was under harsh judgement, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to dress Drift up a fraction if he ever took it anywhere more prestigious than the local high street.

Those jewels he’d seen a while back were suddenly a very tempting idea, though he was reluctant to spend more money on conforming to the standards of some idiots. Maybe it would be better to drop Drift off for a proper paint, and silver and gold paints wrapping their way around its body would look much nicer than twenty gems stuck on it randomly. Though there was also its actual job to consider, and if Ratchet wanted it cleaning and eventually helping him properly at the Clinic, then an easily tarnished paintjob wouldn’t last long.

Whatever. He’d work it out later, for now though he had once last shop to duck into, and then he could get home to dump it all before getting back out to do actual work. All he needed was a new pillow for his berth, and perhaps some nicer glasses in case he had to start entertaining guests, and it was a quick job to find plain glasses and then the pillows were in amongst a wall of similar cushions and throws, all of which seemed useless, and all of which seemed to captivate Drift’s attention. He watched it tentatively poke a few cushions, and stroke several fine mesh throws before getting curious.

“Drift. What’s wrong?” It startled and quickly withdrew its hand, and came back to his side.

“Nothing master. I’ve never seen heat conserving tarps such as these before. I’m sorry.”

“…Uh huh, don’t worry about it. And most of these are for decoration anyway, or because they feel nice I guess. Mechs don’t tend to need extra layers unless they’re ill or a racing frame.” Although, actually looking over Drift… His own words brought a flash of irritation, as he realised something he’d completely overlooked. Racing frames. Designed to go fast and to dispel as much heat as physically possible to avoid overheating. Drift wasn’t exactly a high end frame, but he did remember on its specs that it had been made at a factory that dealt with producing some top racers, and its alt mode certainly wasn’t slow. 

Testing his theory, he took a quick medical scan of Drift, ignoring its squeak at the sensation. It was operating within perfectly healthy parameters, however…

“Here, keep still.” It made another noise when he pulled out a cheaper, basic throw, and wrapped it around its shoulders, holding it closed it front of it before it realised it could do that itself.

“Master?” Ratchet just shushed it, and waited a few more moments before scanning it again. Not much, but definitely a visible improvement to its overall temperature. If it kept it on during recharge, it would probably end up a lot more fuel efficient and maybe wouldn’t fidget as much.

“I’m just being an idiot. Give that here.” And he tossed it over his arm, and grabbed a plain recharge pillow, before putting it back and grabbing a longer one intended for two mechs. “We’re paying for this, then we’re out of here.” Drift just nodded and followed him to the checkout. Or so he thought, and it wasn’t until the cashier drone looked oddly over Ratchet’s shoulder that he realised Drift had stopped at some sort of notice, and he wandered over himself when the cashier had finished.

It was just a product recall notice, for a batch of faulty laserpointers. For whatever reason, some company had decided that putting a spark in one might benefit the user somehow, but he’d tried one and it was a waste of time. It might be able to point to his presentation without Ratchet needing to hold it, but that benefit was definitely outweighed by the fact that he had to keep it fuelled up, and he felt uncomfortable storing something half-alive in his subspace, which meant he lost five of the blasted things before giving up on them.

Others he knew felt the same, and production had all but ceased, with the later batches being so cheaply made in an effort to maintain profit, that they had a bad habit of malfunctioning barely a few years into their lifespan, and judging by this notice had developed a problem with overheating and and occasionally combusting when in use.

He wondered why Drift had picked it out as important information though, and it hunched in on itself when he asked.

“It’s not that important master, I just wondered what malfunctions would cause a drone to be recalled.” He obediently followed when Ratchet motioned to the door, taking the extra bag of shopping without being prompted.

“Usually it’s just because they violate some safety law. Sometimes batches are faulty, they’re dangerous to use so they’re sent back to be destroyed or stripped for parts.” 

“But you… You fixed me. Why can’t the others be fixed?”

“Usually cheaper to just make a new one. You’re a personal drone though, and buying one like you, new, would cost a fortune.” His thoughts turned to his cruel words the night before, and as much as he wanted to apologise again, doing to in public would cause him no end of grief if he was overheard.

“I…” Drift didn’t get a chance to finish, because suddenly Ratchet was being greeted loudly by someone from behind, and as he turned he felt his spark near shrivel up and collapse at the sight of Nominus Prime strutting towards him with a cold smile in place, Senator Ratbat trailing one step behind.

“Drift. Don’t say a word to these mechs unless they ask, and try and look like, I dunno, the perfect drone or something.” He managed to whisper instructions just before the other two came into ear shot, and with a struggle he plastered his own smile on and went to greet them.

“Prime, Senator Ratbat. I’m surprised to see you here.” It might be a very high end shopping district, but Ratchet was under the impression they had servants for this sort of thing. A glance past them and Ratchet saw their personal drones, a perfect three steps behind, and past them was the shadowy image of a high end security mech, making no effort to stay hidden. He might be on show, but Ratchet knew there had to be at least another dozen hiding and ready to annihilate any threat, and it was a struggle not to wildly look around when he felt the creeping feeling of being watched.

“We were just visiting the paintshop, I like my drone to be at the cutting edge of fashion at all times.” Prime gestured behind him to his drone, Shockwave he believed it was called, and sure enough it was beautifully painted up, and smiled and bowed slightly in the perfect image of a well trained drone. He’d seen it a handful of times around, and each time it seemed to be a different colour.

“They did a good job, it looks uh, stunning.”

“My drone is a display of myself and my worth, it has to look its best at all times. Unlike Ratbat’s here of course,” He smiled at his companion and they seemed to share a joke that left Ratchet feeling awkward and left out. “His isn’t even named.”

“Of course not, and why would I want to drag around something that looks better than me? Though Doctor Ratchet here clearly understands the desire for an understated companion.” Ratbat’s smile looked nice enough, but it was a struggle for Ratchet to laugh at such a backwards, snide ‘compliment’. Behind him, Ratchet caught sight of the Senator’s drone; boxy and dark, with a yellow visor and full mask covering its face, and some sort of clear chest panel that would have been scandalous if it weren’t for the opaque glass. Ratchet found the functional, utilitarian look quite attractive, but he’d be damned if he said so.

“I hope to train my drone into more than just a fancy accessory. Pretty paintjobs get ruined in a medbay.” He really didn’t want this conversation to steer towards Drift in any way, and he noticed that Drift was starting to creep closer and closer to him, hiding behind him. It was time to leave as soon as he could find a polite out.

“Ah yes, it was a shame what happened, though at least you didn’t lose your job.” The Prime clasped his shoulder in some show of comfort.

“And you have that little clinic to play at until this scandal has blown over.” Ratbat was smirking, and behind him Ratchet saw his drone watching intently, putting him on edge. He needed to leave, now, and frag his pride.

“Yeah, I’m actually overdue to be there now in fact. Poor mecha to see and treat, and maybe hope they’ll make something of themselves.”

“Those guttersmechs will never appreciate your charity Ratchet, but at least it offers a nice image for the middle classes.” Ratbat wasn’t even trying to hide his disdain anymore.

“Well, won’t know unless I try. And I really must leave, thank you both for your time.” A polite nod to each of them, and he was thankful they stepped aside and let him pass by without another word. When he was far enough, he snuck a hand around Drift’s elbow and pulled it to the side around a corner, stopping to let himself calm a fraction and replay the situation and check for any points he might have screwed up. He thought he’d managed quite well despite his briskness, and Drift has been superb and he patted it on the shoulder.

“Master…”

“You did good. The Prime likes me well enough, but Ratbat can be a hassle.”

“…Master, let’s go home.” It was almost an order, and that startled Ratchet into focus, though he saw Drift looking just to the side, and when he snuck a glance himself, he saw the dark shadow of one of the Prime’s security mecha lingering. He was on view for a reason, and Ratchet took the warning to spark.

“Yes, you’re right. We have to get this stuff put away, and I have schedules to look over.” He walked briskly to the closest transforming bay, where he waited for Drift to transform down, stowing the shopping away in it before changing himself. The drive home was thankfully quick, and Ratchet was relieved when he didn’t catch sight of any more shadows.

* * *

“Okay, so you’ve read enough ‘pads and you’ve got them all to hand for reference. This crate has been here a while, I need the contents sorting out into useable parts, and scrap.” A busy afternoon at the clinic was followed by a quiet evening, and Ratchet finally judged Drift well-read enough to tackle the gory box of spare parts.

“These… Are all from people?”

“They’re from the morgue. Dead guttermechs don’t get a proper smelting and send off, and I’m friends with the owner so we get anything useable. Once it’s sorted, it needs cleaning.” It was clean enough to touch, but he needed it sterilised if he wanted to put it back into any living mech.

“I understand master.” It had already taken a few parts from the top, and was inspecting them closely with a critical optic.

“Good. I’m going to be leaving you here overnight, with the place on lockdown. I’ll be here early tomorrow, so sort this junk out, then wash off and recharge. If it ends up taking too long, just pause the job and recharge for the night, I need you functional tomorrow, not bleary and useless from no rest.”

“I understand master, good night.” It watched him place a cube of energon on the desk for him, and then Ratchet left, switching on all the security measures before slipping out the door. Most mechs left him alone, as it was never a good idea to harass a medic willing to treat you for free, but he had a lot of expensive stuff in there, especially his drone now, and he’d be damned if he left it unprotected.

* * *

Later that night, Ratchet was watching the newscasts while thumbing though an old datapad. More missing drones, most gone without a trace, though a few offlined frames had turned up, and Ratchet’s tank churned when he thought about losing Drift, and all the effort he’d put into it.

With an uncommon burst of worry, Ratchet turned off the broadcast and brought up his console display, pinging remotely for it to access the security cameras he’d installed at the clinic. They were only cheap ones; drone ones were popular, as they were intelligent enough to keep a proper watch, but they were notorious for getting stolen in poorer areas, and were too expensive to replace all the time.

The relief he felt when he saw Drift surprised him, and he hummed approvingly when he saw it seemed to have sorted out the entire crate, and had left a pile of scrap to sort though later, with the useable stuff stacked neatly by the sink. After clicking through each camera feed, checking they all worked, he was about to sign off when movement caught his attention. Just Drift, in the main room of the clinic, but rather than standing in its preferred corner to recharge, it was… Lounging across a berth? On its front, legs up and kicking in the air while it thumbed through a ‘pad of some sort or another. A different camera angle and zoom in showed enough of the screen for Ratchet to recognise it- it was a word matching game, designed specifically to help broaden a mech’s vocabulary when one couldn’t be downloaded.

The fact that it was using it wasn’t that extraordinary, after all he’d told it to learn and clearly it was, but the relaxed posture, the way it seemed to scowl when it got a wrong answer… It wasn’t right, and it put Ratchet on edge enough that he watched it until it eventually recharged, and even then Ratchet felt uneasy when it curled up on the berth rather than in the corner he always found it in.

He still felt uncomfortable when he finally switched the ‘pad off, and ended up laying awake a while until he managed to convince himself that nothing was wrong, and that the drone must be testing some behaviours it’d seen. He tried not to wonder about where it had seen someone lying around like that, given that he never did himself, and in the end forcibly initiated recharge to escape his wandering thoughts.


	9. A Visit to a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year~
> 
> I need to mention something for the fic quickly- locations. I mostly make crap up as I go along, and then I worked out an actual map and wow it's a mess.
> 
> For reference: Ratchet works at a hospital in Iacon, lives in the sort of outskirts of the city in a fancy apartment in a nice, upper class area away from the poor people. His clinic is in Rodion, in the Dead End.
> 
> In my head it takes like maybe 45 minutes to an hour to drive from Iacon to Rodion. I live in England, towns aren't very far away from each other so this is 100% normal to me, especially in a world where everyone drives and towns/cities seems to be well connected and just spread into each other.

 “Okay Drift, what were the rules again?”

“Don’t wander. Don’t speak to anyone. Don’t leave your sight. Don’t look easily stolen. Don’t do that panicky thing I do. Don’t stop and stare at things you thought I’d have seen before but apparently haven’t. Don’t–”

“Yeah yeah, I didn’t need it word for fraggin’ word. Let’s go.”

They transformed down and joined the traffic, Drift close enough behind him to almost be touching. The precautions probably weren’t necessary, but today they’d be venturing outside of the peaceful little hub of the upper districts, and wandering deeper into the hustle and bustle of the city, with ten times the number of mechs and easily that much more crime. At least in the gutters of the Dead End people tried to keep themselves scarce, in the city centre of Iacon was a different story, and with the rising number of crimes, particularly drone related ones, he wanted to be better safe than sorry. Thankfully once they got to the transport network they could board a shuttle and Ratchet could keep a literal hold on Drift if he had to, awkward as that may be.

The drive was quiet and uneventful, and they had no trouble passing through to the pedestrian-only zones where they transformed and followed the rest of the masses on foot. Drift kept close and though Ratchet could see its optics taking everything in, it didn’t ask any questions and obediently followed Ratchet’s determined stride, until the crowds thinned out and they were in the middle of a commercial area. A quick check of his internal map, and Ratchet led the way past a dozen shop fronts and restaurants, ignoring the watchful eyes of the security mechs as he went past. Once upon a time he’d have blended into this scenery like any other member of the public, just another mid-size frame in a sea of similar mecha and drones, and even his status as a forged medic wasn’t that unusual around here. Unfortunately, it appeared that if you were too smart and too good at your job, you were plucked from your comfortable existence and prettied up to serve a particular brand of idiots, most with more money than sense, and the unfortunate ability to make his life hell if he wasn’t careful.

A grouchy middle class medic serving the Prime and his followers? Absurd, but amusing and ‘oh look at his little clinic, how quaint and charitable’.

A grouchy middle class medic, with ideas above his station and refusing to prescribe the current fad in drugs or cosmetic surgery? A problem, but one easily solved with the right strings to pull.

These days he had the hang of it, and knew just the right balance between vitriol and back-handed compliments to keep his job and his head, but skeptical looks from guards and the wide berth he and Drift were being given by the crowds was enough to make him wish he could just quit and retire a few millennia early.

He managed to push his gloomy thoughts to the side as they turned the corner and approached the stairs leading towards the central shuttle bay. Here more than anywhere were the neon signs favoured by the Functionalist Sect, a smaller branch of the government that dealt with frames and alt modes, casually thanking everyone for doing the jobs they were forged to do. Next to a particularly large one was an advertisement for the newest personal drone frame, a slinky lithe thing with more decorative kibble than necessary, and apparently a vibrating interface array as standard, with a number of options to make it compatible for two mechs for easier use with your partner.

At least that was an improvement; they seemed to be marketing more at couples and triads these days, rather than the more pathetic ads of old which were essentially ‘can’t find a partner? Here’s a fake one you undesirable pile of spare parts!’

He hurriedly pushed that thought out of his head, given his own situation.

“Our shuttle is on platform eight, this way.” Drift followed, dragging its own optics from the sensual posing the drone on screen was doing, and they made their way to the shuttle, finding their seats easily and settling in for a quiet ride.

One benefit to his position at least meant Ratchet was automatically upgraded to first class, so at least the seats were comfortable and he was offered a cube of high grade as soon as he’d settled in, and the booths were positioned in a way that he didn’t have to see the other handful of mechs and drones who shared the carriage. On the other hand, it meant there wasn’t much else to look at aside from Drift sitting across from him, whose attention seemed torn between watching the people milling about on the platform and the cube of high grade in Ratchet’s hand. 

“What’re your fuel levels like? You refuelled this morning right?” Perhaps it was low on fuel. He had some mid-grade in his subspace, as well as a handful of sweets in case he felt the urge for them.

“Fifty percent master. I refuelled this morning and that took me up to sixty-five.” The drive was long, and Drift wasn’t the most conservative of frames. He was glad he’d told it to refuel itself– keeping on top of that as well as everything else would be nothing short of a complete chore. He took out a cube of mid-grade and tossed it over.

“Drink that, it’s not a long way to get to Wheeljack’s, but I don’t want you slow and weak by the time we drive back home.” The drone just nodded and drank it down swiftly, and Ratchet settled back to relax before the inevitable chaos that visiting his friend usually turned out as.

* * *

The short drive from the station to Wheeljack’s workplace was short, and though there were far fewer mechs on the roads, Drift still stuck close. He kind of missed the quiet chatter of the drone when he took it out, the way it would ask questions and observe its surroundings, but it was doing a good job of following his instructions exactly so he could hardly complain.

As the surrounding building thinned out to a single large warehouse surrounded by half-destroyed test sites, Ratchet sped up and Drift followed. Wheeljack often joked about how untrusted he was when it came to his work, but he’d told him once over a few drinks that he occasionally exploded things purposely, and in return for his minor issues he’d been given a large private lab far closer to his apartment than the Research Lab he worked for was, and was left well alone to do whatever he liked, so long as he produced something of worth every now and then. Ratchet was in all rather jealous, though pleased for his friend’s fortune and luck.

The warehouse door opened as they approached, and shut neatly behind them as they transformed and Wheeljack welcomed his friend with bright optics and an affectionate hug.

“It’s good to see you Ratchet, how’ve you been?” Wheeljack looked healthy and a quick scan showed he was in the best of health, aside from perhaps a few scorch marks on his fingertips and chest.

“Eurgh, I’m not nearly overcharged enough to deal with all that yet. Mostly good, sorry I dropped by with so little notice though.”

“You could turn up completely unannounced and it’d be fine Ratch’.” Wheeljack patted him on the shoulder, and Ratchet was about to wander inside when he realised that his friend was more interested in his drone. “So this is the drone I’ve heard about hm? Seems to be working alright, how’re you getting on with it?” Ratchet just shook his head and waved Wheeljack forward. His friend had been interested in drones long before they met at university, and he wasn’t surprised in the least when Wheeljack walked around it and gave it a good once over.

“Bit glitchy sometimes, which is why I’m here so you can take a look. Other than that it’s great, does as it’s told, learning fast. Pretty much all I need it for.”

Wheeljack made a humming noise, stepped closer and moved to inspect it but stopped before he touched its shoulder.

“You mind if I…?” He asked without turning around, and Ratchet just made an affirmative noise and stood back to wait for the other’s judgement. Wheeljack was careful as he lifted its arm, rotating the joint before dropping it and repeating on the other limb. He seemed to pay a lot of attention to its hands and the small of its back for some reason, and then dropped to his knees to inspect its legs and feet. Drift was mostly frozen, though as the inspection went on it stopped staring so hard at the wall in front of it, and quietly watched Wheeljack poke at its frame. However when Wheeljack tried to lift its leg, it didn’t move and looked at Ratchet for guidance.

“Wheeljack’s my friend, listen to him like you would me and do whatever he tells you.”

Drift slowly nodded and lifted its leg into Wheeljack’s hands, and while ‘Jack inspected the knee joint Ratchet watched the way Drift’s optics flickered and its fists clenched in uncertainty. It was a sign he was quickly associating with the drone asking a question, and he waited until it spit it out with a small amount of static.

“Master? What… What about interfacing?” Drift looked worried when Wheeljack froze and Ratchet just started laughing. Thankfully ‘Jack was able to collect himself quicker and stood up to address Drift while Ratchet composed himself behind them, and he’d calmed down enough to hear what his friend had to say.

“Curious huh? And not afraid to ask questions, that’s good. That’s real good.” When Drift seemed to relax he carried on. “Anyway don’t worry about that, I don’t interface with anyone, drone or forged.” Ratchet watched him pat Drift’s shoulder once before moving round to inspect the back of his helm and neck. He worked in silence for a long moment before Drift spoke up again.

“…Why not?” It was quiet and slightly hunched in on itself, and Ratchet wondered if Wheeljack would somehow be able to stop that sort of behaviour, make it act more confident somehow.

“Never wanted to so I didn’t. Took Ratchet a while to work it out though.” Wheeljack’s optics flashed as he teased his friend, and ratchet found himself smiling fondly despite it.

“Not my fault you’re attractive.”

“It is _definitely_ your fault that you seemed to be trying to sleep with the entire class by the end of first term though. And that you’re denser than iridium when you’re overcharged.” Ratchet just waved him off, they’d had this good natured argument enough times in the past and there was nothing else to add to it, even if he wished that Wheeljack had told him a little earlier so that he didn’t spend four weeks trying to get the mech in his berth when he was categorically uninterested. A minor blow to his pride, but it sealed the deal on their friendship, allowing it to strengthen and blossom without any of the looming awkwardness that might have been caused by interfacing.

Ratchet watched Wheeljack poke around a little more, and he seemed to be finishing up his inspection when a polite voice spoke from behind them.

“Master I am sorry to intrude but the results have come in from the simulation, and I’m afraid to say that the copper oxide is a definitive flaw in the plan. I’ve restarted the simulation using a mixture of iron and the silver however, and already it seems to be working much better, though I’ll have the results in approximately three cycles and ten nanokliks.”

Polite but wordy, and Ratchet turned around to see a tall red drone reading from a clipboard, the scope on its shoulder suggesting it was some sort of lab equipment. Cold yellow optics looked at Ratchet a moment, then glanced over to Drift, almost judging the other drone as it waited for Wheeljack to walk over and take the clipboard.

“Well, bad news but at least the new lot is working, good job Percy.” The drone nodded and took the board back, and returned swiftly to the room it came from after casting another glance over Drift. Wheeljack noticed ratchet staring after it and answered the unasked question. “That’s Perceptor. Best lab assistant I’ve ever had, even if it can take a while for it to get to the point sometimes.”

“Ah, I see. So what’re you working on these days?” Ratchet followed with Drift as Wheeljack beckoned them into the next room, the bare entry way opening into a large, open space, with several workbenches dotted around the room, and every wall piled high with shelves and a mass of spare parts and random boxes of junk. Wheeljack began explaining about some sort of new weapon, a mass-displacement ray or something, when movement caught Ratchet’s optic.

There, on the far shelf to his right, a small drone stared up at him, until it noticed Ratchet looking back and darted to hide behind some box. Ratchet’s interest was piqued however, and he moved closer to see what Wheeljack had running around his shelves, and was surprised to find a small colony of laser-pointers sat huddled together behind a broken datapad, their tiny eyes staring up at him.

It was possibly the creepiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Wheeljack, what in the pit are you keeping these for?” He noticed a half empty energon cube and assumed they’d been left to their own devices or something. Picking one up, he ignored the way it squeaked in half-intelligible binary code, and inspected the product number printed down the length of its back, confirming his suspicions. “These are the ones that were recalled aren’t they?”

“Oh! Yeah, I got them super cheap.” Wheeljack’s voice from so close behind him nearly startled him into dropping the small drone, but Wheeljack was thankfully quick enough to take it from his hands before it fell. “This is just the latest batch, I’ve got a load more somewhere. It’s cheaper to buy them like this, than it is to buy their parts- companies can’t really profit on the circuitry, so they don’t sell it separately for cheap.” He carefully placed it back on the shelf, where it scurried back to sit between a couple of the others.

“What’re you working on that needs such small parts?”

“That my friend, is a secret I’m sorry to say, but I can assure you it’s _really_ amazing.” Ratchet just smiled and let it go, and instead wandered down the rest of the shelves, checking their contents for anything else interesting. Mostly it was junk, though Wheeljack was more than happy to ramble on about the exact reasons for keeping a half exploded box of optical sensors, or the plans he had involving the left hand of an old city-former.

At another point in his tour he found himself staring inside a large box containing another number of broken drones, all functioning and well, except for the fact that most were missing limbs or important parts of their alt-modes. He figured they were for more spare parts, because he wasn’t sure why else Wheeljack would be keeping a faulty medical scanner or a speaker-less music box, and put the box back and moved on. Everyone had their own weird little hobbies, and if Wheeljack liked to collect broken drones, then he was hardly going to question it too deeply.

The final interesting part of his wandering had him poking at a sparked energon dispenser, quietly sat in the corner of the workshop, and Ratchet had thought nothing unusual about it until Wheeljack said it refused to follow orders and transform to root mode. When Ratchet gave it a scan he couldn’t see anything wrong, but a nudge at its diagnostic panel had it trembling and leaking energon from its taps.

“There’s nothing wrong with it physically, it’s probably just faulty in the processor or something.”

“Hmm, Percy’s looked at it but hasn’t had much luck so far. Oh well, maybe one day...” If anything Wheeljack looked almost sad, but brightened immediately when he noticed Ratchet watching. “Anyway, you came here for me to look at your drone right? Not poke around my old junk. Where’s Perceptor…”

As it happened, both of their drones were sat quietly at a bench, Drift glancing around while Perceptor poked around on a datapad and mumbled to itself. Definitely a habit it must’ve learnt from Wheeljack, as Ratchet had nearly punched his friend a number of times for mumbling while they studied together, distracting him from his own reading. At its name, the red drone looked up and nodded, said something to Drift that made it glance over, and then both were wandering over to them, Perceptor perfectly confident and poised while Drift shuffled behind it, optics never leaving Ratchet.

“Master, shall I run a diagnostic?”

“Go for it, upload the information to here.” Wheeljack handed Perceptor a blank datapad, while the drone unspooled data cables from a hatch on its upper chest. Ratchet watched as it turned to Drift, who didn’t seem to understand what to do, so he stepped in to manually open its data hatch, pulling out cables while Perceptor clicked its in.

“Master?” Drift’s voice was quiet and when Ratchet glanced over he noticed it was almost shaking again.

“This is just a data transfer, so that Wheeljack’s drone can look through your processor and check things are in order.”

“…Why can’t you do it?” It froze up as its cables were plugged into Perceptor, and Ratchet pet over its helm and audial fins in some vague need to try and calm it. Pits but he was getting too attached, though at least Wheeljack didn’t comment.

“Drone processors are different to a Cybertronians, so we get better information with drone-to-drone link ups using a specialist drone such as Perceptor. If there’s something wrong, it can fix minor errors to match its own coding, or at least highlight anything that I’d need to do myself.” His words didn’t seem to calm it any, but it gradually relaxed the longer he pet at its helm, until eventually Perceptor nodded once and unhooked them both, uploading the information the the ‘pad before announcing the results aloud.

“Drift has suffered extensive damage to the processor, though it has healed well enough. Most glitches are caused by opposing information and experiences; behaviours it was expected to repeat previously are no longer required while with Ratchet, and it is taking time to relearn and integrate new commands and social cues. Master, I would recommend the informations pads I’ve sent to you, as its primary learning protocols are quite basic, and it will be hard to upload information digitally without risk of full corruption of its processor, which will likely result in a total wipe.”

Wheeljack thumbed through the ‘pad while Ratchet gaped at Perceptor’s uninterrupted speech. Noticing that Drift was having issues recoiling his cables, he helped put them away while listening to Perceptor ramble on about percentages and precautions, until it finally stopped and Wheeljack presented the ‘pad to Ratchet.

“It’s glitchy, but it’s normal given the circumstances. All the info’s here, along with some basic written information for it to read through. Percy doesn’t seem to think it’s missing much aside from some social cues though.” Ratchet took the pad, looking through briefly before subspacing it with a nod of thanks. “Physically it’s great, though I’m sure you know that already.”

“Yeah… That’s really good news, I was a little worried, but I guess the only other drones I’ve seen have been medical ones and those fancy ornaments the nobles like to parade about.”

“Heh, yeah they can be pretty creepy sometimes. I checked its original stats too- you’ve really done a great job with its upgrades, if you ever want rid of it, make sure you ask me first yeah? I could always use a new set of hands around here, and the company won’t give me any more since I lost the last five they gave me.”

“Lost? How in the pit did you manage that?” Wheeljack at least had the grace to look sheepish about it as he led them through to a small office, where he tossed Ratchet a cube of mid-grade he pulled out of a desk drawer.

“Don’t really… know, to be honest with you, I was just doing some experiments, might’ve knocked myself out a couple of times and poof, they vanished. Percy didn’t even see them go either, it’s a complete mystery.” Ratchet was skeptical, but it wasn’t out of the realms of possibility so instead hid his disbelief by taking a sip of his cube and glancing around. The office was small, and even with Wheeljack propped against his desk, and Ratchet leaning against a wall there was hardly much room to move, especially with Drift hovering in the doorway. Wheeljack noticed and made a shooing motion to the drone.

“Go hang out with Percy for a bit, see if it can teach you something useful.” Ratchet nodded when Drift glanced to him to check, and he hummed as he watched it hurry out.

“I know you said it’s normal, but I’m still not so sure. I watched it on the security tapes the other night, and it was just… Acting unusual.”

“In what way?”

“It was just reading a ‘pad but… I dunno, it still wasn’t normal. And it recharged on the berth, but when I arrived at the clinic it was in the corner it usually stands to recharge in.”

“Huh, well it’s probably just experimenting you know, they copy a lot of stuff so it’s usually best to just let them get on with it.” Ratchet wasn’t really convinced, but he let it go anyway. “Besides, enough about drones, I want to hear about this mech you said Orion was seeing, it’s about time he had some interests outside of work.”

* * *

Drift was quiet the entire way back, not saying anything when they took a shower to clean themselves of the dust from travelling, and barely mumbling a word as it handed Ratchet a cube that evening. It was kind of unnerving, but it didn’t seem to be glitching, merely processing the events of the day.

“What did Percy teach you today?” Drift startled from its daze, almost stumbling from where it stood behind the sofa. Ratchet pat the seat next to him, and it came over and settled down obediently, though still seemed preoccupied. “Drift?”

“Perceptor showed me how to reconnect and patch up a broken fuel line, and how to filter impure energon into something that would support a living mech. He said it would be useful with everything else you’re teaching me.”

“‘He’?” Ratchet wondered at the word choice, and Drift visibly startled and hurried to explain.

“I’m sorry master, I’m not used to talking with other drones, sometimes I get mixed up.”

“Yeah it’s fine, just wondered. It sounds like it was a useful trip for all of us then.”

“Yes master, I learnt a lot faster with Perceptor teaching me.” Drift trailed off, staring into space again and Ratchet wondered if it had just taken in too much information at once. Wheeljack had told him not to worry though, so he just shrugged and turned the vid’ screen on, lounging back with his cube as he watched the news scroll by. It was a slow day of nothing interesting, and so Ratchet pulled out the ‘pad Wheeljack had given him for a better look through.

Mostly it was just a standard diagnostic chart, details of Drift’s processor and statistics. Another page though, had a list of glitches Perceptor had found, and next to them the likely cause and best treatment for each. Most, if not all, were as it’d said- clashes of information, and they’d work themselves out eventually. A much more interesting note was a list of possible triggers, that would either send Drift into a systems crash or even trigger violent or disruptive behaviour, and Ratchet made a personal tagged note to himself to never let Drift near fireworks or gunfire. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how _that_ glitch had developed, but it would take some work to sort it out, though he’d work that one out in the morning.

He was just reading through a list of recommend reading for the drone when an urgent news story caught his attention, and he looked up to see a somewhat frantic mech presenting information as it came in.

“–We wait for more information, though at this time it is being treated as a targeted homicide and theft of public property. EX-673, though most commonly referred to as ‘Prowl’ by the enforcer unit, was a gift from the city of Praxus twenty-eight vorns ago, and its theft as well as the murder of its handler, who cannot currently be named, is thought to be a direct attack from the rising rebellion, whom many are calling ‘Decepticons’. These high profile attacks are becoming increasing frequent…”

“Master…” Ratchet’s optics were torn from the screen by Drift’s quiet voice, and he looked over to find it wringing its hands. “I don’t… Please don’t let them take me.”

Ratchet was almost floored by the plaintive sound, practically a plea, and without thinking reached out to pull Drift over to him, bundling it up in his arms while it clung back and nudged its head under Ratchet’s chin. With an internal command Ratchet shut the screen off, and the sudden silence was jarring.

He stroked up and down its back as it tried to nestle even closer, until it stopped moving and simply huddled against him while Ratchet thought of the best way to say what he needed.

“I won’t… I’ll keep you safe. Prowl was… some sort of advanced warfare drone, I read about it- it had experimental software in its head that made it worth millions. Comparatively, you’re not worth anything, not like that. You and me, we aren’t even on their radar, and even if we are I’m still going to do my damnedest to keep you safe. Just… If I ever do anything stupid, like tell you to go out alone or something, just hit me and tell me I’m being an idiot, and stay where it’s safe.” It nodded but didn’t say anything. “I’ll get a tracker for you as well, then I can find you easily if you ever go missing.”

“Thank you…”

They lay twined together for a while, Ratchet mulling over the news while Drift thought about who knew what, until his thoughts were interrupted by movement. Drift wriggled slightly, and pulled itself up just enough that it could look at Ratchet’s face, and he was about to ask what was wrong when it leant down and pressed its lips softly against his in a chaste kiss. It pulled back a little, and when Ratchet didn’t say anything it pressed back again, and tried to deepen it, copying the way Ratchet slid his lips and brushed with his glossa, until Ratchet took its glossa into his mouth and moved a hand to the back of its head, moaning as they shifted and pressed against each other.

“Drift…” They pulled back just enough for Ratchet to groan out, and he could already feel his interface array coming to life.

“Can we… Interface? Please master…” Ratchet kissed back, one hand playing along the back of Drift’s neck while the other skimmed down its side to rub its hip, teasing and stroking as it ground back into his hand. When Drift pulled back with a small moan, Ratchet pulled himself up to press a quick kiss to its open mouth before falling back, wriggling a little to get more comfortable as he watched the drone above him. He was getting so used to its optics, by now the dazed yellow light was quickly becoming one of the most arousing things he’d ever seen.

“Never say no to you.” He opened both of his own panels, his spike not online fully yet but his valve was starting to moisten, and it seemed like a good night to change things up a little. “Spike me?” Drift’s optics flashed and it startled, pulling up before Ratchet could catch it.

“What?” Drift straddled his upper thighs, and Ratchet pushed to lean up on his elbows, mouth twisting at Drift’s confused expression.

“You know, your spike, my valve. You’ve never done it that way?” He’d taken its spike recently, had enjoyed himself immensely riding it, but hadn’t expected it to have never been used that way,to have never been told to spike its owner or someone else before.

“I uh, my spike was… Ruined by my second owner. None of the others seemed to care for it anyway so…” It looked down at its lap, and Ratchet decided a new lesson was in order.

“Right then, get off and let’s get to the berth then. Show you how to do this right.” Drift stumbled to its feet, but was quick to follow when Ratchet made his way to his room, though it hesitated in the doorway when Ratchet crawled onto the berth and lay back, spreading his legs invitingly. He smirked as it made its way over, and ran a hand to palm over his recessed spike, before moving down to fill himself with two fingers, spreading himself and enjoying the way Drift stared. “Come one up here then.”

It hurried to obey, optics still transfixed by the way Ratchet pumped his fingers, and settled itself between his thighs, hands hovering in the air, unsure where to put them.

“What do I…”

“See the way I’m using my fingers? Remember the way you did it to yourself for me that time? Just try and copy that.” It nodded, and Ratchet removed his fingers to give Drift room, and unthinkingly brought them up to his mouth to suck his fluids off, much to Drift’s interest. “Want a taste?” Drift nodded and leaned forward, its fingers still only just inside Ratchet’s entrance as it seemed far more interested in licking and suckling Ratchet’s fluids off his fingers, and the mech really couldn’t find it in him to complain with the way Drift cleaned every drop off, tracing each seam and working its glossa between his fingers.

When his hand was clean, Drift gave it a parting kiss before letting it go, and leaned back to concentrate on its other hand, staring at Ratchet’s array intently as it felt around the opening and lips. Ratchet was about to press it to get on with it when the drone finally pressed in, and though it was hardly a stretch it still felt wonderful, especially when it experimentally crooked its fingers, leaving Ratchet moaning and bucking his hips for more.

“Yeah, just like like, that’s good…” He thrust his hips up into the next movement, taking Drift’s fingers deeper, and on the third thrust the drone got it, and set up a smooth pace with just the right amount of twist to get Ratchet’s charge building. Without even needing his guidance, the drone brought its thumb into play, pressing against Ratchet’s outer node in a way that had him gasping and biting at his own fist, urging Drift to do it again, and he struggled to keep his noises quiet when it thumbed his node, striving to please him.

When it had finally worked out the rhythm, Drift leant back down to nuzzle at Ratchet’s jaw again, until Ratchet tugged it up for a proper kiss, moaning into its mouth as it worked him ever closer to overload. Every other thrust it seemed to try and find a new cluster of nodes, and the continual stimulation was revving him up quicker than he could remember. It had clearly been too long since he’d enjoyed a bit of valve play, and while riding its spike a few days ago had been fun, he was definitely enjoying it taking a more active part.

He vaguely noticed a soft click, and then the press of a hard spike rutting along his thigh as Drift worked him over, and he decided he really could wait any longer.

“Drift! In me, now-oh frag!” Drift seemed reluctant to pull its fingers out, giving a final hard press against his node before it pulled away and repositioned, nudging its spike at the entrance.

“Like this?”

“Y-yeah, come on!” Despite his urging, Drift was slow and steady as it pressed inside, and Ratchet couldn’t fault it with the way it allowed him to feel the constant stretch, and texture of every bump and ridge. Damn but he’d chosen well and he was a fool for not trying this out earlier. Above him, Drift was gasping, trembling and clutching at Ratchet’s hips as it tried to keep going, and in the end Ratchet had to buck his hips to get Drift inside all the way, himself moaning lowly while Drift to sobbed static and grabbed tighter.

A pause, and Drift began to drag itself out, pulling almost out before pressing back in, and the slow pace was a torture and blessing in one.

“D-Drift, please! Faster I need- c-come on..” He trailed off with a whine when Drift tried to obey, and to begin with the increased pace was clumsy and erratic, but with a little moving and guidance it soon worked it out, and was clutching at Ratchet’s chest as it pumped its hips, filling Ratchet over and over while the medic had no choice but to grab at Drift’s back and go with the pace.

Ratchet, who’s charge had been building steadily, was already close to the edge, and could feel the drone was too by the way its thighs shivered and its thrusts got ever quicker. Dragging a hand from Drift’s back, he worked it between their frames to palm at his own node, pinching and pressing against it in time with the drone’s thrusts, so that when Drift shuddered and froze with a cry he was already tipping over himself, thighs clamped around the other as he rolled and played with himself through the overload, extending it until his node was too sensitive to touch.

Above him Drift was panting, hot vents blowing against Ratchet’s neck cables where the drone had tucked its head under his chin again. It was nice, he thought to himself. Not world shattering, but definitely a nice end to the day, and he was sure Drift’s techniques would improve with a little more hands on experience. Dragging his hand from between their frames, he settled his arms in a loose hug around Drift as he waited for the drone to collect itself, and when it finally stirred and looked up at him with a slack, dopey expression, Ratchet could only smile and press a kiss against its forehead.

“How was that?”

“…Warm.” Ratchet couldn’t really disagree.

He was content to lay there for the rest of the night, more than happy to slip into recharge with Drift still inside him, except he could feel the tremors of charge under his hands from where Drift’s frame wasn’t quite sated.

“Mmm, get up a second.” With gentle nudges, he managed to get Drift to pull out, and then tugged it until it moved up his frame to straddle his chest. “Up a bit more, come on, yeah that’s it.” It stared down at him, a small frown of confusion at the way it straddled Ratchet’s helm, until he pulled on its hips and tugged its valve down to his mouth, at which the drone let out a small ‘oh’ and leaned against the wall for support.

Drift was already dripping from its overload, and Ratchet was quick to lick as much up as he could, laving the entrance and cleaning off each swollen lip before focussing on its node, taking it between his lips to squeeze and kiss. Above him Drift was already gasping, grinding down into his mouth slightly, so Ratchet brought his hands to its hips to pull it down harder, encouraging it to grind against his face and seek its overload.

He could taste the charge on his glossa as he moved back to lick long, flat strokes against the entrance, and when he dipped his gloss inside he was rewarded by another gush of fluid, which he drank up greedily, kissing and licking to encourage more as he nuzzled its node with his nose as best he could. When he could feel the valve walls twitching, he pulled back, another long lick back up to the nub where he focussed his efforts, crushing Drift’s array against his face as he sucked the nub, mouthing it between his lips and gently grazing it with his denta.

Drift was nearly sobbing, its array only made more sensitive by its previous overload, and Ratchet doubled his efforts, ignoring the ache in his glossa and jaw as he tried to push Drift over the edge, until Drift’s hips were grinding against his mouth and Ratchet struggled to do move more than his mouth. Above him the only warning he had was a cry of ‘master’, and then the drone was overloading, hips twitching in his hands as he continued his efforts, nuzzling its nub as he licked up the fresh lubricant.

Eventually it stilled, and Ratchet laved a parting lick up the length of its valve and let go, supporting Drift as it shuffled down and flopped next to him, dazed and almost smiling as it settled himself into Ratchet’s side.

“You ready to recharge?” All he got was a mumble and sort of nod, so reached over to the side table and pulled out a cloth, hastily wiping themselves down and ignoring Drift’s grumbles as he shifted them about. With that done, he pulled out a datapad to read for a bit, not yet ready to recharge himself, and settled back comfortably, new pillow under his head with his drone snuggled and pressed against his side. It was, he decided, almost perfect, and he figured that was probably good enough for now.


	10. Changes to the Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took such a long time to get out- I ended up rewriting the outline three times before I was even happy with where it was going
> 
> I need to give out a special thanks to the anons who helped me edit, especially the one who was so meticulous, I think they spent like five hours helping me turn this from a pos into something that I genuinely think is the most well edited thing I've ever posted~
> 
> Warning for a little non-graphic violence towards the end~

Enough time had passed that Ratchet should have been able to put his worries to rest; in the days and weeks since he had watched Drift on the camera and had spoken with Wheeljack, the drone had been nothing short of perfect. Attentive and studious, it had been a boon at the clinic, helping more and more as an assistant while Ratchet sought a proper ‘intern’. At home it had managed to organise and streamline his office, and it was currently working on redoing his closet, all while keeping the place spotless and orderly. In public it was polite and kept close, while in the berth it was beautiful, and had taken to initiating interface more often than not, clearly knowing Ratchet’s needs more than he did himself.

Yet he still couldn’t keep the image of it reading and playing from his thoughts, no matter how normal Wheeljack had said it was. Ratchet had even mentioned it to Pharma in passing, though the jet was more interested in talking about his latest conquest, either in the berth or at work, and he had flippantly told him to junk it if it was bothering him, as if Ratchet were the sort who would throw away months of work for what was probably nothing.

Perhaps it really was just him, and he was going mad, looking for odd behaviour in a bargain bin drone, as if it acting a little off once was in any way different to the million other ways it was glitched. He hoped he wasn’t crazy, mostly so he wasn’t currently wasting his money by ordering a set of home surveillance cameras. The non-drone kind, because he didn’t think he could cope with any more drone related stress in his life.

He then tried to pretend that Drift suddenly appearing in the open doorway had made his fingers jump, and that he didn’t just close his browsing window down in case it saw.

“Master, I’ve finished organising your cupboards, and I’ve found all the datapads you need for today’s lecture.” It lifted the pile in its hands to show, and put them on the desk when Ratchet waved towards a vague place to deposit them. There was an awkward silence when Drift stood back, and hovered as if waiting for something, and then Ratchet realised it wanted some sort of instructions, given it had now managed to completely tidy and reorganise his entire apartment.

“Oh, right. Well…” He wasn’t sure he wanted it to be left alone until the cameras arrived and he could check up on it. “Make sure you’re fuelled up; you’re coming with me to the lecture. Need someone to uh… we need to assess how much you’ve learnt, and it’ll be easier with all my material to hand.” He didn’t fail to notice that despite its nod, it also cast a quick glance to the veritable mountain of information and ‘pads he had neatly shelved in his office, yet it merely mumbled a ‘yes master’ before it left to refuel.

Primus but he hoped he wasn’t going mad.

* * *

“Ah, this is my office. Meet me at the clinic in a couple of days, I’ll message you the exact time once I’ve worked out my schedule. I’ll be there already so just walk in, and we’ll see how you get on.” The student nodded enthusiastically, and despite his full face visor and mask, Ratchet could tell he was excited and smiling.

“Thank you sir!” First Aid wasn’t his best student, but he had talent and enthusiasm, which was more than he could say for most of the others, and Ratchet knew potential when he saw it. “I’ll uh, see you in the lecture then, thank you again sir.”

Ratchet would have to get him out of the habit of calling him ‘sir’ quickly, though it was at least nice that one of his students treated him with some respect. They even parted with a handshake before he ran off to get ready for the lecture, and Ratchet smiled after him fondly, though mentally began drafting replies to the messages that would certainly be in his inbox tomorrow; a lot of influential guardians had paid through the roof for their charges to be in this school, and they likely wouldn’t react well to finding him giving such an opportunity to a working-class kid with a scholarship.

He found himself already longing for a weekend spent at the clinic, where he didn’t have to play politics or worry about anything other than doing what he was forged for.

“Drift?” He shut the door to his office and glanced around, trying to quell the nausea he felt when Drift wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Drift, where- Drift?”

He stepped around the desk to his chair, and instantly saw Drift curled up under the desk, optics dim as it recharged. It was… Beyond cute, and the worry subsided into a feeling he was desperately trying not to address, especially when its optics flickered on and it sleepily looked up at him.

“Master? Oh no, oh no I’m sorry I didn’t-ng!” Ratchet dove to help it before he could think, already rubbing its audial where it had bashed its head in its attempt to scurry out.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” The logical part of his mind told him he shouldn’t be trying to comfort a drone, but he couldn’t stop himself, especially when it relaxed into his touch and looked up at him with dim optics and a small smile. He had to leave, before his interface array reminded him of other times when it had looked so blissed out, and he stumbled to drop his touch and gather up his ‘pads. “Got a presentation, figured you could sit in and learn something so come on.” He tutted impatiently when Drift hung back, but it was quick to hurry after him and kept close as they moved through the corridors to the lecture theatre.

“What’s the presentation about master?” 

“Uh, the central nervous system and the best ways to shut it off or fix it, that sort of thing.” Drift took the ‘pad Ratchet offered and skimmed though. “I think you’ve read about it, but this will be a lot more in-depth and cover different frame types and the like. It’s important for you to know- most of the mechs in the gutters tend to put seeking help off for too long, so they’re in a lot of pain by the time they arrive. It’d be good for you to know when and where to install a sensory block, that sort of thing.”

“I understand, master.”

“Here, come sit at my desk.” Ratchet led the way into the theatre, ignoring the looks a couple of early students shot the drone, and set up while Drift settled down and waited. It was all going as planned, until one of his more loathsome students walked in, and as usual couldn’t keep his opinions to himself.

“I didn’t realise we were bringing our berth toys with us today, Professor.” The student, called Twister or something equally inappropriate for a medic, was smug, with no reason to be so aside from his guardian’s income. Ratchet was quietly looking forward to watching him fail his final exam, given his lack of care or ability.

“Needed a new assistant, and it’s been pretty good so far. It hasn’t fainted during surgery yet at least.” A not so subtle jab to Twister’s last practical performance, and Ratchet tried not to smirk when he glared down at him, embarrassment clear on his face. Thankfully the rest of the class piled in before the student could come up with a retort, and Ratchet watched as he stiffly took his seat at the back and began muttering with his friends. Whatever, one more stuck up brat hating him was hardly the biggest of his worries.

“Okay class, the central nervous system. So…”

* * *

“So, how did you find that?” He waited for the class to clear out before addressing Drift, who had been more than attentive during the lecture. It had also been doing that hand clenching thing which he knew meant it wanted to ask something, though Ratchet was pleased it hadn’t interrupted the class. Bringing a drone with him was in no way as weird as stopping a lecture to answer its questions, no matter how much they could absorb from direct teaching.

“Informative master, I learnt a lot, but… Can I ask some questions?” At Ratchet’s nod it carried on. “It’s about the way the nerve points send sensation to the processor and how it’s interpreted, um…” It sort of fidgeted a moment, and then in a flurry pulled out the datapad for that lesson, flicking through pages until it found what it was after. “I don’t understand a lot of this, or uh, the next few pages.” Ratchet gave the page a look over, and saw exactly what Drift was asking about.

“Okay, pull up a seat and I’ll explain.” Drift hurried to obey, and Ratchet pulled out a scrap bit of plastic flimsy to jot the diagram onto. “Right, so here’s the processor yeah? This bit here receives the data, but this bit here interprets it. You got that? Now…”

It was honestly enjoyable to teach Drift, given how eager it was to learn and how quickly it picked information up, and Ratchet decided that he’d definitely be scheduling more of these one on one sessions into his free time.

* * *

The University might have had no issues with Ratchet working, but his days in the hospital were full of thinly veiled jabs to his competency, and under the harsh scrutiny of the hospital directors he’d been demoted to the supposedly insulting tasks of cleaning and checking up on patients. ‘Drone work’ more or less, but Ratchet could hardly find it in himself to care, just thankful that they hadn’t taken his licence out of pettiness.

The latest on the list of chores however, was to show a new doctor around. He was more annoyed that he hadn’t heard about the new guy than he was about taking them on a tour, but he smiled and got on with it, if only to hopefully tick someone off with how agreeable he was being. And the mech in question was friendly, intelligent and respectful, so it was hardly a chore to get to know him.

‘Rung, psychiatrist.’ The mech had introduced himself as, apparently specialising in a number of things outside of Ratchet’s field, and though he’d never heard of him, Ratchet had apparently been noticed, as Rung had practically gushed over how in awe of Ratchet’s skills he was and his few published works. It was hard not to swell with the genuine praise, and Ratchet made a point of showing Rung his office in case he ever wanted to pop in for a chat.

A freedom that Rung was more than happy to take advantage of.

“Did your dispenser break?” Rung appeared in Ratchet’s doorway, armed with a couple cubes of energon and a datapad, both of which Ratchet took gratefully.

“Mmm, it was one of those drone ones. Kept clogging up, so I gave it to my friend to see if he could do something with it. It wasn’t there last I visited, so I guess he found a use for it.”

“I see.” Rung looked thoughtful as he sipped his own drink. “Oh, the pad is a message from reception by the way. I was walking past when they got it, I think it’s to do with the murder.”

As if Ratchet wanted to be reminded of that. Still, he flipped it on, only to find a message from Orion detailing how the progress was going, with a small note at the bottom asking if he wanted to get a drink later while he was still in town.

“Case isn’t really progressing quickly, and Orion’s invited me out for a drink tonight. You want to come?” 

“If he doesn’t mind, then of course. It would be nice to socialise in a more relaxed environment.”

“We’ll probably end up in that bar just outside the shuttle station, do you know it?” He messaged Rung the coordinates and information, and the smaller mech nodded when he recognised it. “You’ll like Orion- everyone does.” 

* * *

“No but I would really,  _really_ like to know more about this Megatron of yours?” Ratchet was drunk, exceedingly so, though Orion was sober as usual, and it didn’t appear that Rung liked to get much more than a little tipsy.

“Megatron? I’ve read some of his works, do you know him?”

“Very, _very_ well or am I mistaken Orion?”

“That’s…”

“How big’s his spike?”

Both Rung and Orion spluttered at Ratchet’s bluntness, though neither looked overly scandalised, and Orion had a glint to his optic as he picked up his drink, dragging out the silence while Ratchet got ever more impatient. Perhaps if he were sober he might’ve asked a little more subtly, but that level of manners was long gone, drowned by high grade.

Orion leaned across the table, as though he were sharing some secret, and Ratchet and Rung both automatically leaned in to listen.

“When he ‘faces me, I can’t walk for hours, and the ache lasts until morning. He likes the idea of me feeling him even while I’m at work.” Orion smirked when Ratchet’s fans clicked on, and Rung stifled a laugh. “And last time, as he was pounding me through the berth, he kept whispering all these dirty poems that he’d written about me into my audial. I never knew getting ‘faced to offlining could be so romantic.”

“Well, at least you found someone who might enjoy reading those trashy romances novels you like. Maybe you can bond over _The Gladiator’s Concubine_ , or was your favourite the one about the Tarnian brute and his waif of a seeker lover?” He’d actually found Drift reading one of those trashy ‘pads recently, and knew it must’ve been left the last time Orion visited.

Ratchet managed to get his fans to shut off, though his array was still heating up, what with Orion’s words and the warmth of the high grade. Still, he could tease back like a pro, and laughed when Orion flicked his chevron.

“I think you’ll find the best one is _The Taming of the Triple-Changer_.” The three of them laughed with each other, and Ratchet was trying to get his drunken processor to come up with something witty when he accidentally missed his mouth, and poured half his cube down his chin.

“I think you’ve maybe had enough.” That was Rung, voice of reason and practicality, already mopping up the drink with a rag he’d pulled from some secret compartment or another. Ratchet was about to disagree when Rung picked up his hand to start cleaning the mess up, and Ratchet couldn’t stop his engine from revving if he tried. “Oh sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Nah, just sensitive, especially when I’m already a bit revved up.”

“Oh.” With delicate touches, Rung dabbed at his hands, until Ratchet decided to throw all caution to the wind and leant across to whisper in Rung’ audio.

“Could show you just how sensitive if you like.”

“I think it’s time for me to head home.” Orion’s voice piped up before Rung’s, and Ratchet smirked when he heard teasing in his friends voice.

“Could always join in?”

“No, I really do need to head home. Rung, are you staying or coming?” Orion’s voice was calm, and Ratchet pulled back to show Rung that he didn’t mind at all what he chose, though he was quietly very pleased when Rung picked up his hand again to start wiping non-existent drink off.

“Hmm… I’m actually quite interested in seeing these hands a bit more. Thank you though, it was very nice to meet you.” 

There was a chorus of goodbyes, and then Ratchet tugged a willing psychiatrist up into his arms.

“My place isn’t too far, or yours maybe?”

“Mine’s really not much to talk about and it’s a shuttle ride away.” 

“Good, the walk’ll sober me up too.” They stumbled out into the street, managing to weave around similarly drunk mechs until they were on the pedestrian route to the noble district. Rung kept playing with Ratchet’s hands, and it was a chore to not drag the mech into an alley to get rid of some charge, but he settled for groping his aft-wheel in retaliation.

Turned out Rung sounded pretty cute when he squeaked.

* * *

By the time Ratchet collapsed through his door he was sober, impatient, and beyond revved up, and Rung seemed to delight in the way he was taking out his frustrations by pinning him to the wall and kissing him until his lips felt they might bruise. Between groping and teasing, they’d discussed what they wanted on the walk home, which did nothing to dampen their growing charge, and Ratchet was looking forward to a night of playing the sub, being tied up and ridden until he was screaming, and he was eager to get started. Except…

“Master?” Drift peeked out from its room, and as Ratchet pulled away, Rung’s interest was piqued.

“Oh, you didn’t say you had a drone.”

“Uh, yeah. Training it to be a medical assistant. It’s doing well so far.” Drift shuffled out when Ratchet beckoned it forward so that Rung could get a better look. “It was kind of in a bad state when I got it, but it’s doing fine now, even if it glitches a bit.”

“Glitches?”

“Just weird behaviour.” Frag but he was so not interested in talking about his drone when he had a functioning, living mech willing to screw his processor out. Still, he sent a comm message, so that Drift couldn’t hear. _::Installed some cameras so I can see what it gets up to, but they’ve only been installed a couple of days.::_

“Sorry, I find them fascinating.” Thin fingers groped his aft in apology, and Ratchet groaned as he pressed back into it. _::In your bedroom?::_

“Drift, this is-ah! R-Rung, he’s staying the night so you can sleep in your own room.” He broke off with a whine, and spun to drag Rung back into another kiss. He barely took notice of Drift stuttering out a ‘yes master’ before it hurried away, and then all focus was back on Rung for the night as he moved towards his room, trying not to fall over as he stumbled backwards.

_::Yeah, just up in the corner. I’ll delete tonight’s footage of us though.::_

_::I think I’d rather have a copy myself.::_

Somehow they made it onto the berth, Ratchet flopping back and pulling Rung on top of him. A bit more kissing, and a lot more groping, and Ratchet’s panel clicked open, his spike pressuring instantly as he ground his valve against Rung’s thigh.

“Eager?”

“More than you could possibly know. Toys are in the cupboard, think Drift organised them.” It was an almost painful wait to watch Rung pick out some toys, and in his impatience he slipped a couple fingers into his valve to try and take a little bit of the ache away. It was only a few moments later that he felt a thwack against his hand, and he looked up to see Rung wielding a crop and holding a couple of extra things.

“Where’d you find that?” He hadn’t seen that crop in ages, and it wasn’t obvious when he’s glanced through the cupboard earlier to inspect Drift’s work.

“Buried, right at the back and under some other bits. It’s a nice crop.” Rung flicked it experimentally against Ratchet’s thigh, and the medic grinned even as he flinched away from the sting. “I don’t know your limits, so I won’t go too hard. You say or comm ‘stop’ and I will though.”

“Sounds good, though I wish you’d get on with it.” He smirked as he tried to wriggle his hands back between his thighs, though it turned to a hiss when Rung whipped his thigh again.

“Something told me you wouldn’t make this easy for me.” Ratchet just flashed a smile as Rung climbed up onto his waist, straddling and reaching for his hands. With deft fingers he cuffed them to each other, and then magnetised them to the berth above Ratchet’s head. An experimental wriggle showed they were comfortably tight, but he wasn’t going anywhere, and his engine revved instead of words. It really had been too long since he’d done this properly, and he was already thinking about inviting Rung back for another round.

Ratchet then watched Rung pull up a piece of mesh which he tied around his optics as a gentle blindfold. Ratchet knew he had an actual sensory disrupting one somewhere, but this was comfortable and nice, especially for a first encounter. It was good enough to ensure that no light crept in, nor would it come off if he wriggled too much, and he wondered about trying it on Drift one day before he managed to halt those thoughts. He really shouldn’t be thinking about his little pet when a living mech was doing such wonderful things with his hands, and Ratchet tried to arch up to entice some more invasive touching.

Only to be rewarded with a thwack of the crop against his chest that had him moaning for more.

“One would think you were doing this on purpose.” Another hit when Ratchet tried to buck his hips up, and another when he did it again.

“S’not my fault you’re not getting on with it.”

“I should leave you like this until you learn to stay still.” He didn’t though, and to Ratchet’s relief he felt Rung’s panels slip aside, and the heat of a wet valve pressing against his spike. Another buck of his hips, and the sting of the crop was actually painful this time, and he gasped as the pain left tingles of pleasure dancing over his plating. He didn’t have enough time to reply before Rung nudged up and sank down on his spike, and it was only the mech’s weight and the hands against his chest that kept him from driving up hard enough to accidentally dislodge Rung.

Rung was tight and hot, and knew the exact way to roll his callipers to have Ratchet panting and desperate for more, and when the tip of the crop stroked and teased along his thighs, he thought he was going to overload on the spot.

“Rung- oh frag- I’m _close_!”

“Well, that just won’t do.” And the rolling heat stopped, and Ratchet tugged on his restraints as Rung instead set to work on mapping out his chest and sides. It was more than enough to stop the growing of his overload, but the deft touches did nothing to stop his charge cranking ever higher, and the warmth of Rung’s valve was a torture without his movement.

“This is, so not fair.” He managed to pant between invents, desperate to try and cool his frame, though decidedly more desperate to reach that peak of overload. Rung’s touches were only enhanced by the fact that he couldn’t see them, didn’t know where he was going to touch next, though he could easily imagine the small smile of his friend as he played with his frame.

“I don’t think I ever said it would- huh?” The touches stopped, and Ratchet wanted to scream when he felt Rung twist to look back towards the door.

“Rung?”

“Heard something.” And then Ratchet did curse him when Rung eased off his spike and went to investigate, and the cool air was a new torture on his wet spike.

“Rung!” He heard the door opening, and Rung’s surprised noise, though it was almost inaudible compared to the sound of Drift’s squeak and apology. Ratchet mumbled to himself, though managed to quieten down enough to hear what was going on at his door.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yes sir, I’m sorry I just, um…”

“You’re overheating. Were you listening in?”

Drift’s reply was a whine, though Ratchet could well imagine the way it would shrink in on itself and nod without looking up from the floor. But frag this, he wanted to overload some time tonight.

“Rung! Either invite it in or send it away, please?” He tried to sound calm, but knew he must’ve looked a needy mess, especially with the way he was trying to twist his hips, as if that would get him any attention. More quiet words from Rung, and then Ratchet heard two sets of pedes coming back to the berth. And then there was finally a hand on his spike, slicking through the cool fluids, and by the way it expertly twisted and stroked Ratchet could tell it was Rung’s.

“Where do you want us?”

“Don’t care, just need- fragging pit Rung don’t stop!” The hand slipped away, and gave a brush to his valve before the weight of Rung settled over him again, his valve grinding along Ratchet’s spike while fingers smoothed over his abdomen. He could hear the noise from Drift’s engines as it hovered next to the berth, and with a frustrated snarl Ratchet ordered it up. “Drift, get up here.”

“Put your valve to his mouth Drift, have you done that before?” Rung sounded far too calm in Ratchet’s opinion, given the circumstances and his own desperate need.

“Y-yes sir.” Drift’s voice was quiet, but it wasted no time pulling itself up, to hover over Ratchet’s face. He could already feel the heat pouring off it, and groaned when Rung ordered it to actually sit down properly, though it still waited for Ratchet’s desperate nod. A sloppy kiss to its panel had it snapping aside, and Ratchet greedily licked up the fluids that dripped onto his lips.

“Drift, come on.” His voice was muffled, but the drone finally settled its weight, and Ratchet could feel his spike practically pulsing in Rung when he heard Drift’s soft moan.

The expertly clenching, slow thrusts from Rung were amazing, but coupled with the taste of Drift and the needy way it tried to twitch into every lick and kiss, the experience was blissful, and he lost himself in the haze of need and arousal. A stroke of his glossa had Drift whimpering, and a suck on its nub had it almost sobbing, grabbing onto his helm for support, and Ratchet was sure he could do this forever.

And then Rung began to move differently, no longer slow and teasing, he started to slam his hips down, his valve rippling with pre-overload spasms, and he thrust his hips up as best he could, all thoughts of their earlier play gone from his mind as his single focus became driving the two mechs above him to overload.

“Drift, touch-ah! Touch his hands.” Rung’s own hands were pressed hard on his stomach, using his entire weight to slam down on Ratchet’s spike. Drift’s thighs tightened to hold on, and then shaking hands were entwining with his, clutching and setting off what felt like a thousand new sensor nodes. With its frame leaning over, Ratchet had much better access to it’s nub, and he rewarded the drone’s careful hands with a hard kiss to its external sensor, flicking it with his glossa while he squeezed and suckled on it with his lips. Above him, Drift was panting, slurring out a litany of ‘master, master please’ and frag but that was more than enough to have Ratchet’s spike swelling, once more on the edge of overload.

And then Rung reached around and pinched his own sensory nub and Ratchet was gone, his shout muffled between Drift’s thighs as the overload left him shaking and pushing up into Rung with all his strength. He felt more than heard Rung overload, his valve clenching tightly around him while the lithe doctor rocked and shuddered, all that Ratchet heard being a quiet gasp.

Unlike Drift, who was loud as he ground down hard, practically smashing its valve into Ratchet’s mouth as he did his best to overload the drone, and the continual _pleasepleaseplease_ had him squirming and tugging at his bonds with the need to pull Drift’s hips down even harder. But then Drift froze for a single second, before the rush of lubricants flooded Ratchet’s mouth, and he tried his best to keep kissing and licking Drift while it trembled and sobbed above him.

Then just like that it was over, and the ache in his jaw and glossa registered, as did the overheating warnings and the mess over his face and between his thighs, but Ratchet found he couldn’t care less as he pressed a final kiss to Drift’s nub and collapsed back down. Rung was the first to move, easing himself up and moments later the cuffs and blindfold were off, and Ratchet looked up to see a worn out Rung smiling down at him, and a mess of a drone panting while staring off into the distance.

Rung helped Drift get down, and then Ratchet could do little more than stroke its back when it collapsed next to him and cuddled in, while Rung flopped down on his other side.

“Need to do this again.” Ratchet mumbled.

“Indeed. Energon stick?” Ratchet looked up at the offered treat and smiled as he took two, and handed one to the drone who sucked on it with dimmed optics.

“You staying?” The bed was big enough for all three of them, though they’d need to clean up a bit first.

“The night’s still young, so I think I’ll clean up and head home if you don’t mind. Do you want a cube of energon?”

“Drift can get them.” But Rung was already halfway out the room, and Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to argue, instead lazily staring at the mess on Rung’s thighs, and the way he couldn’t quite walk properly. They definitely needed to do this again.

A moment later and Rung was back with three cubes. Ratchet managed to sit up and tug Drift up enough for them to consume them, though the drone was quick to finish and cuddle back in to Ratchet’s side. Ratchet pulled out a couple of rags and directed Rung to the washracks while he cleaned himself and Drift off, and had just managed to find a datapad to read for the rest of the evening when Rung popped his head in again, plating clean and fresh and not a trace of their night on him.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, have a good night.”

“You too, goodnight.” And with the quiet click of the front door, Ratchet got back to his ‘pad.

* * *

At the clinic, First Aid was settling in well, and had already proven Ratchet right in hiring him. He watched quietly while the student worked, and could find no faults except perhaps for his somewhat meek disposition, though that would probably improve with experience. Of course the best part was how well he got on with Drift; Between the two of them he had a great little team, and he was able to extend the somewhat erratic opening hours to something a little more consistent. 

“I’m heading back to the hospital for a while, message me if there are any issues. Drift, stay here and help.”

A nod from both of them and he felt confident in leaving them to hurry off. Not to the hospital, but home to his apartment, where he was planning on seeing for himself what the drone was doing behind his back. He made the journey in record time, managed to thankfully avoid anyone wanting to stop and chat, not that he had many friends up in the upper district anyway. He was home and in front of his console before he’d even really stopped to think about what might be waiting for him on it.

He opened up the video files: There was no turning back now.

It was... dull, he quickly realised. Most of the footage included him, though he’d never been aware of quite how much time he seemed to spent sitting on his aft in front of the vidscreen, with Drift pottering around, cleaning or sitting with him while they watched some movie or another.

The scenes from his berthroom on the other hand, he saved to look through later, and he managed to squash down the urge to open his panel right then and there. He only had a limited amount of time before he should get back to the clinic, and he needed to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind.

More dull everyday scenes, and after a while he had to fast forward through more footage of him doing nothing than he ever wanted to think about, before he arrived at a picture of him leaving, where Drift stood up, watching him go. This was probably it, and he slowed the speed down to watch.

At first it did, well, nothing. It moved around, cleaning up an already clean apartment, and when it was done with the whole place it went back into his berthroom to… To pick up the recharge blanket? And wrap itself up in it and wander back to the front room, where it turned on the vidscreen to watch some old movie for a while.  

Which was odd, but nothing too unusual he guessed, until he saw the way it hid its face in the blanket when the character on screen looked like he was about to die.

He sped through it watching the movie, which it seemed fully engrossed in, if a little squeamish about some parts, and then it sort of wandered around the apartment again, flicking through ‘pads in Ratchet’s office and occasionally readjusting its blanket. It did that for what seemed like half the day, and then it settled down to nap on Ratchet’s berth, only waking up just in time to fold the blanket up and greet Ratchet at the door.

The next day of video was much the same, except this time it happened upon a pornographic vid, and he watched it self service, copying the mech on screen, arching in overload, and Ratchet felt almost guilty as he saved the file with the other berth vids.

And that was it, days and days of footage of Drift wandering around, occasionally doing chores or watching videos. There was also a lot of footage of it curled up reading, or looking up information on the console. Ratchet was about ready to turn it all off and list it all under the drone’s quirks, when he reached a clip of it cleaning up after a night of his heavy drinking. Floors and sides were wiped off and empty cubes disposed of, but it… It collected the half empty cube Ratchet had left, and to his increasing horror he watched as it pulled another half full cube out of nowhere and poured the energon into it, throwing the empty cube away and taking the full one back to the room he’d given it.

He switched cameras, and couldn’t stop the creeping dread in his tanks when Drift opened a panel in the wall, storing the energon inside. It shut it again quickly, but not before Ratchet had caught a glimpse of several other stashed cubes, and what looked like the box of treats he’d given it all those weeks ago.

Drones didn’t have access to any sort of subspace, and they certainly shouldn’t be hiding energon in walls. Ratchet rushed to the drone’s room to see it for himself, finding the loose panel easily, and without pausing pulled it off, to find the drone’s hoard, piled up neatly and glowing softly.

 _This_ wasn’t a glitch. This was weird, and messed up, and Ratchet wanted to know just how long it had been going on. He also wanted to know how he’d never noticed it before. He tried not to think about the way his hands shook as he replaced the panel, or how out of it he was when he managed to get back to his office and slump into his chair. He wasn’t sure he could face looking at more video footage, but he thought of all the times that Drift had sat at his console, and he now wondered what precisely it had been looking up.

He accessed his browsing history tentatively, and matched up the dates and times he’d seen Drift on it, with what had been looked up.

Medical information, which was a relief, but a shortly lived one as he scrolled through and found that questions about the processor quickly led to questions about feelings, about Primus, and what nausea felt like. One day the drone had spent the whole time looking up new romance novels to read, and he cringed when he found the downloaded files called _Doctor, Guardian, Lover_ and _Until We Meet at the Well._

Then there were hours upon hours of it playing games, ranging from simple puzzles to long, advanced storylines and role-playing games, followed by yet more questions and then a foray into looking at online porn. It was a wonder his console wasn’t filled to the brim with viruses, looking at the dodgy sites it had been on.

He sat in shock for a while, trying to work out what it all could mean, and how this could be happening to him. He was in the middle of cursing Pharma’s name for the fifth time when his comm unit pinged with a new message. It was First Aid, asking if he was coming to collect Drift, because he’d seen to all the patients and it was getting dark. Without thinking he replied that he’d be there soon, before cursing himself, because how was he supposed to live with Drift, when it was so clearly beyond fragged up.

Maybe he’d work it out on the way over.

* * *

“We got a lot of work done, here’s a list of mechs who’ll be back for a check-up, and these are the supplies we used up.” First Aid looked tired, but pretty happy with himself, and Ratchet nodded his thanks as he took the datapad. This was miles more organised than he’d ever been, busy as he was, and he told his new assistant as such.

“And... How was Drift?” 

“Oh! It’s really useful, and knows a lot so it’s a big help, thank you for leaving it here.” First Aid was beaming, and over in the corner Drift looked fairly happy at the praise as well. At least his glitched drone was good for something. “Do you want me to come again tomorrow?”

“That’ll be good, thank you. Now, go and enjoy your evening.” A nod to both himself and Drift, and First Aid was off, leaving Ratchet to close up. Beside him, Drift looked tired and close to recharge, and despite his misgivings he handed the drone a cube from his subspace, which was accepted with thanks. “Let’s walk for a bit.” He wasn’t in any hurry to go home, and it was a nice night for a walk, though he had to try not to flinch when Drift stayed so close that they were almost touching each other.

He still had no idea what to do, or who to see about this. Perhaps he could take the vid files to Wheeljack and see what he had to say about it all. Or perhaps he should book himself in for an appointment with Rung to see if it was all just in his head.

The walk at least was nice, and there weren’t many mechs out in the streets; no one begging for credits or food for once, so he managed to enjoy the peace and quiet while he tried to work out what to do with the Drift shaped problem he had.

They hadn’t even gotten onto the main street, when Drift tensed up beside him, and a cruel voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Freeze!” Before Ratchet could react he was being pulled sharply to the side, a blade at his throat and an arm pinning him to a broad chest. Opposite him, Drift had been grabbed by a similarly huge mech, and Ratchet’s spark whirled when he saw the gun being pressed against its head.

“Get off- argh!” Giant hands grabbed and squeezed his own, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing from the pain was the brute holding him up.

“Shut up doctor.” Another squeeze to his hand and a press of the knife was more than enough to stop any thoughts of speaking, though he wasted no time comming Orion and the local enforcers. “Play nice and you might get out of this alive.”

“Not interested in you, just your drone.” A whimper from Drift had Ratchet’s hazy vision clearing up, and before he could stop himself, he snarled at the way the mech opposite was fingering along Drift’s neck and collar. “Tell your master to shut up, Deadlock, or you’ll be going back to Turmoil minus a couple of limbs.”

“Drift!” His cry was punished by another squeeze to his hands, and it was all he could do to not scream when he felt the metal buckle.

“Master! Please, don’t hurt him, please!”

“Eurgh, just kill the doctor already, we’ve got what we need.”

“No!” Ratchet struggled, trying to find any possible way out, but the mech behind him had an iron grip and he was pinned, and it hurt in such a way that he just couldn’t seem to find a way to get free. Then there was some sort of commotion, and for a brief second he thought he might be able to use the distraction to get away, until a blast of a gunfire seemed to stop time, and he looked up in horror to see what had happened.

Another shot went off, and the grip around him relaxed enough for him to fall to the ground, barely registering the energon running down his face as he looked up to see Drift, holding the gun and wearing an unreadable expression. Time stood still for a few moments, before Ratchet realised that the energon dripping down his face wasn’t his own; that the body slumped behind Drift was the one who’d been restraining it.

“…Drift?” In a rush time sped up, the pain in his hands became unbearable again, and Drift dropped the gun with a choked shout.

“Master? I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean, oh no oh no oh no I’m sorry…”

“Drift?” Why couldn’t he get his legs to work, and why was Drift crying, its vents hitching and spluttering as it covered its mouth and looked at the greying frames. Why was it shaking its head while backing away, and why wouldn’t his own damn legs just work already?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Its voice was full of static, and Ratchet managed to lurch up and stumble towards it, but then it was gone. It took him a moment to realise it had run, and in his shocked state of mind he couldn’t even tell which direction it had fled in.

“Drift.” It was gone, and Ratchet was a mess, standing between two dead thugs, though somehow he managed to send a message to Orion, who’d apparently been pinging him incessantly, bringing him up to date. With a shudder he turned off the sensors in his hands, shakily bringing them up to assess the damage, and vented in relief when he saw that they were fixable.

But where was…

“Drift!” Full control of his frame came back with a lurch as he managed to get his pedes to work enough to walk and then run, and soon he was blindly chasing after the runaway drone, hoping to catch it before it was too late. He was so, _so_ thankful he’d installed the tracker, and while it took a moment to boot up onto his HUD, he only pushed himself to run faster when it flickered online  and he saw that he was on the right track, with Drift’s flashing icon not too far ahead of him.

It was keeping to the back-alleys, seemingly knowing the area far better than Ratchet, but he was gaining on it despite his injuries, and when it came to a stop he huffed in relief, hoping that he’d actually get there before… Before what he didn’t know, but he couldn’t let it get away, and now more than ever, he needed answers.

Drones didn’t wrap themselves in blankets and dance around the house. They didn’t act scared of heights, or play video games. They didn’t stash away energon, or have a subspace, and they certainly didn’t kill people, for _any_ reason. There were failsafes and specialised coding to prevent that; a machine simply couldn’t kill a mech, not like that, and Ratchet needed to find his drone, because this was going against everything he’d ever known.

Soon he came upon the alley where Drift had stopped, and he hoped it was a dead end because he wasn’t sure he could handle much more running, his frame just not designed for it, and his alt mode too large for the narrow streets.

“Drift?” No answer, but he crept closer until he found an old rusted crate, piled high with junk. Coming closer still, he could hear the sounds of a stressed engine, the wracking static sobs of a mech crying, and when he saw a rusted hinge, he knew Drift was inside. Kneeling, he gingerly found the edge of the door with his damaged hands, slowly opening it up while trying to not scare the drone inside.

The sobs only grew louder as he pulled the door aside, and Ratchet’s spark clenched at the sight within; Drift, curled up and huddled as far inside as it could, dim yellow optics watching him warily, and it flinched when Ratchet reached out. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere else soon, Ratchet just slumped to sit down in the ‘doorway’, trying his best to encourage it to come out.

“Drift…” He had no idea what to say. “Are you damaged?”

“No…” It shook its head. At least that was one thing to be relieved about.

“I don’t really know what happened, or what to say. But… I want to find out, and I want to talk with you.” Now that he thought about it, Drift had mentioned Turmoil once, though he hadn’t expected its past owner to be anything like this. “They called you Deadlock, is that what Turmoil called you?”

A nod, and another wracking sob.

“And he’s the one who damaged you.”

“…They all damaged me.” Ratchet waited, but the drone wasn’t even looking at him any more, so he awkwardly shuffled in closer.

“Your past owners?”

Another nod, and a flinch this time when Ratchet put his hand on its shoulder. Before he could pull back though, the drone practically fell into his arms, shaking and clutching at him as he pulled it into his lap.

“It hurts, it hurts so much and I don’t know what to do master, I’m sorry. I don’t want to go back, I want to stay with you, I’m so sorry…” It trailed off into a hiccup, vents misaligned from its hitched gasps, and Ratchet could only sit there and try to calm it down.

“You… You can still stay with me.” He glanced outside, then looked at the sheer number of messages from both Orion and the enforcers, who had clearly arrived at the crime scene by now. “But we need to go home. We can talk more about it there.”

“I killed them. They’ll kill me now, drones shouldn’t… I shouldn’t kill people.”

“I’ll tell them I did it. I managed to get the gun, and shoot them. Orion will... He’ll be able to help.”

Neither spoke for a while, and by the time Drift lifted its head again it was completely dark outside, and getting cold.

“I want to go home.” Its voice was small, and Ratchet couldn’t agree more as he helped it outside, checking Drift over, before pulling it close, and not letting it go until they were back home.

Before he succumbed to recharge, completely worn out from the day’s events, he managed to send a message off to Orion, letting him know they were alive and that they’d face the enforcers tomorrow. When Orion pinged back with news that he’d managed to sort it all out, he sent his thanks and settled down with Drift on his berth, where they clutched at each other as they fell into recharge.

Hopefully tomorrow would be a little better.

 


	11. In the Eyes of the Beholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while, and it's probably only thanks to 'Ant' who helped edit that it made it out looking anywhere near presentable
> 
> Things start getting fun after this :3
> 
> Serious warnings this chapter though! Nothing overly explicit, but still: non-explicit rape, forced prostitution, cannibalism, forced drug-taking, violence, and minor domestic violence with Ratchet

Waking up the next day was a new kind of agony, and Ratchet felt like he might just like to fall back into recharge and never wake up, and put the inevitable chaos off eternally. No such luck, and especially not when he realised that Drift was already awake, doing its best to cling to Ratchet and hide its face against his chest. 

He sat up silently. His head felt like it was about to split open, and his hands throbbed with pain despite him dulling the sensors, but none of it felt real; It was as if he was dazed or drugged, and Drift didn’t seem to be doing much better. When Ratchet felt the dried energon stuck to his face, his frame automatically stood up, and it was a miracle his legs even supported him. He reached for Drift to take it with him to the washrack, where they helped wash each other in silence, cleaning away the grime of the gutters, and Ratchet felt himself come to his senses bit by bit, to the point where he thought he might almost be prepared to face the day. 

* * *

It only felt like moments later that they were both standing idly in the main room, when there was a knock at the door. Ratchet waved Drift away when it went to answer, and tried to pull himself together as he stumbled to the door.   


“Drift just… Sit down and be quiet.” The drone followed his order, while Ratchet went to answer the door, finding a couple of enforcers on the other side, with Orion Pax looking serious at the back. Pit, he wanted this over as soon as possible. “Come in then.”

He led them to the dining area, where he sat down without a word, and the enforcers followed suit, sitting down opposite him, while Orion remained standing to the side. Orion looked too serious, Drift looked too nervous, and he wondered if it still was too early for a drink.

“My name’s Lightbar, and this is Enforcer Quickwit. Orion Pax has already told us what happened, but obviously we need to hear your statement as well.” They didn’t look very concerned, or even interested, and Ratchet wondered if this was what it felt like to have friends in high places.

“There’s not really much to say. I run a clinic in the dead end, stopped by to close up with First Aid.” His voice was gravelly when he spoke, but maybe that would work in his favour. He pinged across the relevant comm number and his student’s public file. “Picked up Drift. We were on our way home when we were attacked. Two big guys grabbed a hold of us. Said they were taking the drone, and going to kill me, but not before they nearly destroyed my hands.” He held up his hands with a grimace, and motioned to Drift in the corner. “Drift’s my drone. Fixed it up myself. It’s pretty good around the clinic.”

“And why do you think they felt a need to maim you before offlining you?” It was Quickwit who spoke, and Ratchet idly wondered if he was born with that designation, or if he’d earned it.

“I’ve got a pretty big mouth, and I let it run away with me sometimes.” He was trying to be polite, but it was incredibly hard when all he  wanted to do was to crawl back into his berth and sleep for the next millennia. “Guess they didn’t like it.”

“And how did you escape?” And wasn’t that the question. He managed to avoid glancing at Drift, and launched into his cobbled together story.

“Drift distracted them, struggled and made a lot of noise. The one that grabbed me had a gun, and I got a hold of it while he was shouting at his friend. Had to turn the sensors in my hands off to use it, but once I had it I managed to shoot the one that had me, and then I got lucky shooting the other. Drift glitched and I had to run after it. I put a tracer in it when I saw about the drones on the news, so it was pretty easy to find. By that time, Orion had already commed me that he was dealing with everything, so I made my way home.”

He ended his little story, and tried to gauge their reactions, but they didn’t seem to care much that he’d basically fled a crime scene, and he wondered just what sort of strings Orion had pulled. Quickwit didn’t seem to be done just yet though, and gave Ratchet’s hands an incredulous look before he gestured to them.

“That’s quite remarkable. You must be an amazing shot though, for you to kill each mech with a single headshot, and with crushed hands at that.”

For all the things Drift was terrible at, he was somehow _very_ good at landing Ratchet in the pit.

“I’ve got good optics. Need it for doing surgery– half the job’s manual dexterity, but you need damn good spatial awareness and visual depth if you want to be as good as me. You should see me throw; I once hit a ball bearing on the other side of a dining hall with a spare bolt I’d found in my subspace.” While overcharged in fact, though he didn’t think they needed to know that part. As it was, Lightbar seemed somewhat impressed, though Quickwit made a show of flicking through a ‘pad that had appeared at some point.

“Mmhm… Okay, can you please describe the way they attacked you? From behind, or the front?”

Though apparently friends in high places didn’t get him off _that_ easy.

They questioned him some more, albeit quite lazily despite the list of questions Quickfit seemed to be running through , and even Orion looked bored by the time they were finished, and both of them had to make an effort to not look startled when Lightbar mentioned that they probably wouldn’t need a mnemosurgeon to clarify any details. Like pit he was letting those needles near his head, and he said as much to Orion after he’d finally shown the two mechs out.

“They won’t bring one in; They cost too much, and it’s not worth it for a couple of thugs from the gutters a district away.” Ratchet just scoffed and offered Orion a drink, which he was quick to decline. “I really need to get back to the office, but do you need help with your hands?”

They both looked at the dented mess, which, although looking awful, already looked better than they had the night before.

“Don’t worry, my self-repair is working fine, and I’ll get Rung to fix anything I can’t reach at work tomorrow.” He followed Orion as he made his way to the door. “Thank you, I… I can’t talk about it yet, but thank you for trusting me.”

“I know you’d do the same for me, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to tell me.” Ratchet ignored the way his friend glanced over his shoulder at Drift before he turned and left.

The door clicked shut, and the sudden silence was tangible, an almost physical weight in the room. Ratchet looked over his hands again, as if staring at them might delay the inevitable, while he could hear Drift fidgeting just out of sight. He didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t know what to say or what would happen, but the longer he avoided it, the more he started imagining worst case possibilities; Drift broken beyond repair, rendering all his hard work destined for the smelter. Or maybe it would glitch and attack him as it had the other two. Perhaps he’d only have to wipe its processor, but he couldn’t deny that he was getting kind of attached to the way it acted, and he was reluctant to end up with a cold, new A.I.

Briefly, he wondered if it was some sort of spy, sent by someone in the senate to report on him, but he wasn’t sure he was important enough to ever warrant that.

“Drift. Come here.” The words were out before he fully registered saying them, but he could hardly take them back, and it was better to get this over with as soon as possible. He heard the hesitation in Drift’s footsteps, but it followed him obediently to sit on the sofa. It held its hands clasped in its lap, and it seemed to be staring at the floor as hard as Ratchet had been staring at his hands.

He didn’t know what to say, and the drone looked miserable and close to another break down, so in the end he just blurted everything out.

“I installed cameras, to watch what you got up to because you were acting weird. Didn’t… Didn’t realise just how far it went though…” Beside him the drone froze in place, and Ratchet reached out to check if it had crashed, but it flinched away before he could touch it, and Ratchet’s spark clenched when it drew its legs up to curl into a sort of ball. He needed to keep pressing on though, no matter how in pain it looked. “Why… Pit, why _everything_. Why’re you stashing away energon? Self servicing? Wandering around with that damn blanket and reading ‘pads you don’t need to? How… How did you kill those mechs?”

He waited for an answer, but all he got was Drift trembling and trying to hide behind its own arms. Ratchet felt a sudden curl of anger swell up, and the pity he’d felt mere moments ago vanished. He was sick of this, sick of it acting like a scared newframe, sick of it glitching weirdly and not acting right. And he was so, _so_ sick of how attached to it he’d become, how he was even in this situation in the first place. Before he realised what he was doing, he was standing, grabbing Drift by the arm, pulling it up to look at him.

“Answer me! What the pit is wrong with you?!” He shook it once, then again when it just started to sob and cry out. “You rusted piece of– stop acting like a beaten turbofox and tell me what I need to do with you! I don’t– get a grip and answer me you pit-forsaken waste of space!” It still refused to look at him, and in his anger he pulled its audial fin back, forcing it to look up. The sight of it looking so utterly pathetic only angered Ratchet more, and without thinking, he pulled his hand back to hit it, as if that might jolt some sort of explanation out of it.

“Please! Please master don’t, please I’m sorry I didn’t– I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” It babbled and begged, though it didn’t struggle, and Ratchet dropped his fist with a snarl.

“You always say you’re sorry, but you don’t even know what it means.” He forced air through his vents, and counted to ten, trying to calm himself down. When he eventually thought he could hold his temper, he threw himself back down on the sofa, and yanked Drift down next to him so they were facing each other.

“Sorry, I’m sorry master, I’m–”

“Yeah, I get it. Just… Just give me some sort of explanation here.” Without the anger in his voice he just sounded tired, and when he watched it try to curl in on itself again, he struggled to muster the energy to do more than try to stop it with a pinch to its audial. After a drawn out silence, it finally made an effort to force some semblance of words out.

“Just wanted… Just wanted you to keep me. I like it here, you’re nice and… You make me feel good.” It edged closer, and Ratchet let it, until he had a ball of trembling drone in his lap. “Thought if I read more, you’d keep me longer, but there’s just so much to learn…”

“Why are you stashing energon, Drift?” He was too tired to dance around the subject. Drift froze in his arms, but it eventually relaxed and began to talk when Ratchet rubbed a hand down its back.

“Don’t like being hungry. Wanted something to eat in case… In case you stopped feeding me.” It almost made sense, if Ratchet squinted and ignored literally everything he knew about drones, but there were other things he was more concerned about, so he pressed on.

“And the thugs in the gutters? How’d you kill them?”

“W-with their gun?”

“No I– don’t be obtuse. Drones can’t kill, it’s in your coding or spark or something. How’d you get past it?” There were thousands of years worth of studies and tests to prove that drones couldn’t harm anyone, that they were little more than pretty computers to put to work. After all, who’d let something that could kill them into their berth.

He could feel it tense up again, and tried not to groan when he heard the telling noises of another break down. At this rate he’d never get anywhere, not if he had to wait for it to calm down for every question. He pet it as it huddled into an even tighter ball, and glanced around for any sort of inspiration for help, when his optics fell on the vid screen. Well, why not. He reached and fumbled for the remote, and when he found it clicked the buttons to call Wheeljack, absently noting that Drift had turned its head to watch.

It only rang a handful of times before Perceptor’s face appeared on screen, stoic as always, even as it glanced over Ratchet and his huddled ball of drone. 

“I see. I’ll get Wheeljack, just a moment please.” Perceptor was gone before Ratchet could get a single word in. A number of noises and a few curses followed, before Wheeljack’s oil-covered face appeared on screen.

“Uh, what’s up?” Wheeljack looked understandably confused. Well, he was fairly confident his console wasn’t tapped, at least not by the police anyway, so he told the truth.

“It’s Drift it… Jack, we got attacked, and the drone killed the attackers before they could kill me. But ever since that…” He gestured to his lap. “I need answers, but it’s just glitching on me. I don’t want to scrap it, but I also don’t want something in my house that might kill me, you know?”

“Ratchet…” Wheeljack trailed off, motioned to something off camera and shook his head. “Ratchet, don’t freak okay? You need to plug into Drift, and have him show you everything.”

“Wha–” The words barely even registered before he was cut off by Drift pulling away from his arms, scrabbling to get away while Ratchet instinctively held on and tried to understand just what Wheeljack was asking of him, and why.

“No no no, please you can’t find out, they’ll hurt us! Master!” Drift was in near hysterics, and it was a struggle to keep the drone from getting away, but the last thing he needed was it escaping again.

“Drift!” Wheeljack was shouting frantically from the vid-screen. “Drift it’s okay, you can trust Ratchet, he’s been fine so far, right? C’mon, trust us, please!” To Ratchet’s surprise, Drift actually stopped struggling, and slumped in his arms. “Ratchet won’t hurt you Drift, and he needs to know. It’ll be better this way.”

“Know _what_?!” Ratchet was beyond confused, and he could feel another processor ache coming on.

“Ratchet, just plug into him. I know it’s weird, but you need to see for yourself. Call me once you find out, or just come and see me tomorrow okay?” His vid-screen clicked off as Wheeljack hung up on him, and they were again left in an abrupt, jarring silence.

Drift had settled down and was looking like it was about to be offlined, and a fair amount of time passed before Ratchet forced himself to pull his own interfacing cables out with a huff. It was weird, and beyond creepy, and he didn’t want to do this on so many levels it was unreal, but he needed answers, and if this was the only way he’d get them, then so be it.

He was definitely going to need a drink after this, and perhaps another few runs through the washrack to scrub the _ick_ off him.

After all, it was one thing to use your ’sticky’ array with a drone, in the end that entire mod was just there for pleasure. Direct uplink was another thing entirely, too intimate, and far too dangerous. Linking up with a datapad or a console was completely different to linking systems with something that just imitated life. Specialised data mechs and drones did it all the time, though he’d heard it described as nauseating, like peering into some sort of half living being, while _something_ watched you back.

“Drift, open up. Let’s get this over with.” He was impatient and wanted this done as soon as possible, though the drone seemed to be in no hurry, and in the end he resorted to snatching its cables out himself, and clicked everything into place with a shudder as the last one connected.

The inside of Drift’s processor was… Strangely _normal_. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it, and as he got his bearings he found it remarkable just how natural it felt, as if he were simply hooking up with a patient or lover. But then drones and forged mecha did basically share the same frames and hardware, so perhaps it wouldn’t start getting weird until he looked a little deeper, though he’d gladly avoid it for as long as possible.

It was eerily quiet though; none of the sense of welcoming one would have with someone else, and he was left to look through Drift’s systems on his own, rather than be guided to what parts needed to be shown. Still, he’d been in worse heads, so he set out to look for something to give him a clue what Wheeljack was talking about, and after the first few searches gave him nothing, he figured he’d be better off starting at the beginning.

In the real world, Drift moved closer, and they rearranged themselves into a comfortable embrace while Ratchet dug around to find its earliest memory. It was actually quite alarming how many corrupt files he had to sift through, but considering the way it glitched, it wasn’t all that surprising, and he merely made a mental note to get it cleaned up later.

He stroked Drift’s back and neck absently as it tucked itself in closer, before pulling all his attention inward as he finally found what he was looking for: Drift’s first memory. Probably from the factory where it was made if Ratchet had to guess, and with a final intake he dove in, playing it from the beginning.

* * *

He  _was_ in a factory, and as Ratchet viewed the world through Drift’s newly onlined optics, he could see rows of similarly framed drones around him, all offline though fully assembled, and Ratchet wondered what sort of life they were destined for, given they were clearly some sort of racer frame. While he was wondering, the memory distorted a little, and the next thing Ratchet saw was a hulking frame looming over him, while another one rambled as they unhooked Drift from the monitor and berth it was attached to. 

“–Make the trade. This one’ll do anyway, s’not like it matters.”

“Whatever, just hurry up, want to get out of here before my shift’s over.”

They chatted some more, and though Drift didn’t seem to understand in the memory, Ratchet gathered that the huge one, a security mech, was selling the stock he was supposed to be guarding to a friend. He was apparently going to lie about it to the company owners, though Ratchet was skeptical about how well that must have played out. Before he knew it, Drift was following the smaller mech out onto the street, and Ratchet could feel a lingering sense of confusion in the memory, but Drift had no reason not to trust them, so obediently kept up with the mech as he wandered deeper into the slums surrounding the factory.

“D’you know what you are?” The question had startled Drift, but it managed to work out how to talk quickly enough. 

“I’m one of you?”

“Pfft, as if. You’re my drone, and I’m your master. You only ever call me master, and you do what I tell you to, got it?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a drone, and the only reason you exist is to do whatever I want, understand?”

“But… Why?” Ratchet saw it coming before Drift had, flinching when the mech punched Drift in the helm, and Ratchet couldn’t really comprehend it when all the factors of the memory pointed to Drift actually _feeling_ it, feeling the pain, and the hurt and confusion. Even in the memory, Ratchet could feel the sudden emotions swallow Drift up, and he struggled to distance himself from them, unexpected as they were.

In the memory, the mech pulled Drift up from the floor, and dragged him through a broken door into what must have been his home, or perhaps just a convenient hideaway.

“Because that’s how it is. You’re not alive, you just do what I tell you to. Frag, why’d I have to get the faulty one.”

Both Drift and Ratchet were still reeling from the pain of the blow, but then the memory fogged up again as Drift was slammed against a wall, its owner pawing at its interface panel, and Ratchet knew what was coming, and felt his tanks twist as he watched and experienced it first hand.

“Open this up, it’s what I bought you for.”

And Drift did, once it found the command, because that’s what it was told to do. Ratchet barely managed to pull himself from the memory just as the fresh wave of agony hit, but not before he was left with the sound of Drift’s screams ringing in his head.

* * *

Ratchet pulled his consciousness to the real world as fast as he could, where he found Drift clutching at him, hiding its face in his chest, and across the hardline he could feel echoes of it’s pain and fear.

“You– I _felt_ it, I saw it… How’s that… That’s…” He couldn’t even find the words, his processor working overtime to try and come up with any sort of explanation. “That’s impossible, the neural sensors and relays only register pressure, you need… You need spark input to translate it to true feeling… How? How long did this happen for, I need… I need...”

He sat up, forcing Drift to look up at him, and he searched its face, trying to find any clues in the way it looked up at him miserably. It didn’t have an answer. Drift’s faded optics just seemed to be looking through him, and as soon as he let its chin go, it dropped its head and avoided his gaze. It felt like an age passed before it moved again, though it still avoided looking at him, and Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to force it to look up.

“…Still hurts sometimes. Doesn’t hurt as bad as it did though. Only hurts here now, since you fixed me.” It rubbed over its spark, and Ratchet struggled to find words or thoughts, settling instead for pulling Drift back into his arms while he sank back into the hardline, determined to find some sort of answer to his questions.

* * *

He did his best to skim over as many memories as possible in as short a time as he could, and quickly got a picture of an utterly miserable existence; the first owner eventually got into trouble, and gave Drift up to cancel some debts. Number two just cleaned Drift up and passed it on, and number three also wound up in some financial mess, though was killed off, while Drift was taken as compensation. Four was a drug dealer, and liked to use Drift to experiment on, and Ratchet recognised this as the time-period when he fixed Drift up, when his clinic was just starting up, and a dealer paying good money to repair a drone was more than welcome. 

Four eventually got killed too, and Drift inevitably passed hands again.

Curiosity finally crept in, and he started looking deeper into owner five. A flash of mundane memories gave no answers, and Ratchet looked deeper still, until he delved so deep that he raced to pull out when he saw where the memory was going.

_“Stay in here. When someone comes in you do what they tell you, and if you do a good job you’ll get fed.”_

He managed to stop the memory while Drift was being chained to the wall, a ratty old sheet of foam padding serving as its berth, and at least he now knew who to hate for clamping that ugly ring of metal around its neck.

It was hard to even think about, and he was almost glad when, at the end of a long period of no ‘visitors’, a half-starved Drift looked up to see its new owner, a huge mech Ratchet would learn was the Turmoil the thugs had threatened them with.

 _“If you want to live, you’d better win.”_ The memories glitched together again, until a mostly starved Drift was tossed into an illegal gladiator pit, forced to fight against a pack of savage turbohounds, and it was a wonder the drone had survived at all, let alone come out on top. Ratchet could feel its pain, and the anger that it had bottled up, as it tore into the hounds, desperate and relentless until finally it was the last thing standing.

_“Good job.” Turmoil pet it on the head, and kicked it to it’s knees in front of the offline hounds. “You’re called Deadlock now, got it?”_

_“Yes master.”_

_“Good. Now eat up.” Drift, desperate in his hunger, wasted no time._

Ratchet couldn’t work out what was worse: being kept in a room as some sort of cheap pleasure drone, or being kept half-starved as a pit fighter, fed on transfluid of all things, and only allowed to drink the energon from its kill if Drift won a fight. It didn’t take much influence from Turmoil to groom Drift into a hateful, vicious killer, and the in the end, when Drift was ‘rewarded’ with a gun and the chance to kill rival gang members? Ratchet could feel how happy the drone was, how thankful and pleased it felt to be carrying out its masters wishes, and in the physical world Ratchet clutched his drone closer, as if it might help the both of them through its memories.

But none of it had answered his question; how had Drift killed, when all laws and research suggested it was impossible.

Drift apparently heard his thoughts, for the next thing he saw was a memory it had queued up.

* * *

“Deadlock, kill them.” Turmoil pet Drift on the helm and stood back. Across from the drone a battered mech sneered as he clutched his broken arm, but Drift’s emotions were calm as it raised its gun.

“Drones can’t hurt a damn thing, what sort of joke is this?”  Another mech, equally as beaten up, spoke from where he was slumped on the floor. They didn’t receive an answer, just a couple of expert shots to the head, before their frames were left to rust in the gutters. There was a swell of happiness when Drift was rewarded with a pat to the helm, and then it bled into a true joy when he was allowed to feed, to finally ease the ache in his tanks.

The memory blurred again, until Drift was sat at Turmoil’s feet, and Ratchet could feel its roiling emotions, although muted under a thick layer of apathy and hate. The feelings built up, and up, until Drift eventually managed to overcome its fear, and rose its head to look up at its master.

“Master? What did he mean?” It received a blow to the helm for its question, and Ratchet recoiled as Turmoil’s spike cover slid aside, and Drift automatically moved to take the emerging spike into its mouth, heedless of the energon dripping from the fresh cut on its face.

“Of course you can kill, pit, that and ‘facing is all you’re good for.” Turmoil forced his spike down Drift’s throat, holding the drone against his array while it gagged and tried not to struggle. “You feel alive don’t you, Deadlock? So full of feelings you know you shouldn’t have, it burns you up doesn’t it? I figured it out a long time ago; you’re alive, but you’re no better than a turbofox, just a dumb animal there for our entertainment.” Turmoil overloaded, and it sickened Ratchet to feel the way Drift eagerly drank his spill, but it paled in comparison to the sickness he felt at Turmoil’s words. 

When Drift had swallowed it all, Turmoil finally pulled it off his spike, and pinched its chin in his huge hand to force it to look up.

“But you know if anyone finds out, they’ll kill you. If you try to ruin their perfect little world, they’ll take yours. Not everyone’s as nice as me.”

And like a switch was flicked, Drift’s world shifted, grew dark and twisted as the realisation sank in. Perhaps that had been Turmoil’s intention, because as Ratchet rapidly flipped through memories, it was obvious that Drift became angrier, and even more ruthless and brutal. He searched desperately for any hint that Turmoil was lying, but all he found was Drift, on its knees or coated in energon, full of hate and loathing for the world, and a burning need to destroy everything in it.

Including, apparently, its own master. Ratchet watched as Drift turned, got desperate and angry and lashed out at Turmoil one day, only to realise its mistake instantly. It somehow escaped, managed to run and spend a couple of nights on the street away from Turmoil, until it stumbled into the archway of some sort of community shelter, where it snuck in and hid.

He wanted to delve further, but only got a glimpse of white plating and yellow optics before Drift pulled him out of the memories.

“Don’t… Not ready for that…” The single thought of ‘ _Wing_ ’ drifted across the hardline before Ratchet pulled completely out, which perhaps it was for the best, because he suddenly became aware of _everything_. Of the drone in his arms, of the injustices it had faced, of what it had done…

He pushed it away, rolled over to his side, and threw up the contents of his tanks.

Thoughts battled for his attention, a million realisations and questions filling up his head, but all he could do was stare at his own purged energon and try not to collapse into it.

How could Drift have survived that, how could it have been put through so much, and come out functioning and sane on the other side. How could Ratchet have been a part of that, how hadn’t he noticed; a thousand images of lethargic drones filled his head, all with dim optics and sad expressions while their owners joked about them. He’d thought those were all just ‘drone things’, but now he recognised them clearly as the signs of beaten, depressed and lifeless mechs, forced into some sort of sick world of slavery, that he’d had a part in, and even _enjoyed_.

He fell to the floor onto his knees, purged the final dregs of his tanks, and leaned back, collapsing upright against the sofa, dazed and appalled.

Ratchet wasn’t sure how long he lay slumped there, but he was roused from his stupor by Drift nudging a full glass of energon in his face, which he eagerly accepted, though he found he couldn’t taste it, and could barely even register finishing it off.

“…Drift?” His voice was weak, nothing more than a rasp, but Drift came anyway, and sunk down to sit next to him on the floor. He managed to look up, only to catch a glance of the collar he’d placed around it’s–around _his_ neck, and thought he might purge all over again. Instead he managed to choke out a sob of static, and pull Drift into his arms, hugging him as if that alone might absolve his guilt and the years of abuse Drift had suffered.

“I’m sorry Drift, I’m sorry I didn’t notice, sorry I couldn’t–” He babbled on, rasping out a litany of apologies while his processor fought to catch up. It felt like he was walking through fog, like he couldn’t think, but he knew he had to apologise, had to say or do something to let Drift know that he didn’t mean any of it.

They stayed like that for a while, until Drift tried to pull them both up and onto the sofa, away from the rancid smell of the purged energon. Drift had managed to get him more or less sitting when Ratchet finally looked up at him, meeting his optics while he ran trembling fingers over the collar he’s stuck on this living being. He wanted to rip it off, as if giving Drift his freedom would be that simple, but the moment he hooked his fingers near the clasp, a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Please don’t. I-I want to be yours, I like you. Please keep me.” Drift’s voice was quiet, and he sounded as upset as Ratchet felt, but he pulled his hands away, still unable to find the words he needed. He was the one who should be begging, not Drift, not the one he’d kept locked up as a slave, not the one he’d taken his frustrations out on, who he’d ordered to– to–

“How can you say that, after everything I’ve done?” The full force of his thoughts hit him, and he gagged. “I, I forced you to– oh primus oh god I raped you and–” He was cut off by hands taking his, and Drift trying to get him to look at him.

“I liked it. With you, I… It doesn’t hurt with you...”

“That doesn’t mean– you couldn’t say no!” Drift flinched at his raised voice, and he instantly stopped and apologised, running a careful hand over Drift’s helm, as if the drone was made of glass.

“I looked it up. Rape is… If I didn’t want to? And I never wanted to before but, I _liked_ it with you. You make me feel so good, never felt that way before…” At Drift’s words, Ratchet’s spark sank, and he realised that Drift just didn’t _get_ it, perhaps didn’t understand yet, but there was no way he could explain it just yet, not while he was such a wreck and Drift was still thinking of himself as Ratchet’s _pet_.

“Drift…”

“Let me show you?” Drift lifted his cables again, and while Ratchet didn’t want to go through a link up again, a part of him needed to know, wanted to lessen his guilt in any way he could, so he took the cables and plugged in.

This time Drift greeted him from the start, albeit awkwardly, and Ratchet watched as he found the memory and queued it up.

Their first time. Ratchet ordered Drift to his knees, and he despaired at the fear and sadness Drift felt as he obeyed and dropped to crawl over to him.

 _Hoped you didn’t want to use me for that but…_ Drift’s voice trailed off as they watched the memory together, watched Ratchet’s eagerness as Drift slowly crawled over and settled between his thighs. Bizarrely, he could feel Drift’s pleasure as Ratchet pet his helm, and clearly the question was felt by Drift when he explained. _I like it when you touch my helm, it feels nice. Never felt nice before you…_

“Show me what you can do then.” Ratchet’s voice in the memory made his tanks churn, and just like that, any pleasure Drift had been feeling was gone as he opened his mouth to take Ratchet’s spike. It was hard to watch, but it was even harder to feel the ghostly sensations and emotions from Drift, a mixture of misery and relief that it wasn’t hurting yet.

The memory passed in a blur, until Ratchet was pushing the drone away in disgust at how ‘miserable’ it had looked, and then all too soon Ratchet was watching himself sink to his knees between Drift’s thighs, a maelstrom of emotions filling the drone, which seemed to clear up the instant Ratchet pressed his mouth to Drift’s array, as if somehow just his glossa had been capable of calming all of Drift’s worries.

 _No one ever did that to me before. It… It felt so good…_ And apparently it _was_ good, and Ratchet could feel the ghost of his own touch, could feel how Drift lost himself to the pleasure, and Ratchet tried not to let his ego swell at the thought that maybe he was just _that_ good.

And then, overload. Drift was in some sort of awe, even more so when Ratchet dragged him to the berth, where Drift displayed himself like he’d been taught. Ratchet might have wanted to purge at the thought, had he not felt just how eager and desperate Drift was for more. His begging might have sounded like something from a kinky vid’, but he was sincere, and Ratchet found himself caught up in just how _much_ Drift had wanted it, wanted him, and he barely noticed when they both overloaded in the memory.

 _I…_ Drift’s voice trailed off, but before Ratchet could ask what was wrong, he was thrown into a series of snapshots of memories. Seemingly every time they’d ever interfaced, and Drift pulled to the forefront just how much he craved it, how much he wanted to interface, until Ratchet was watching himself in every position they’d ever been in, wallowing in the sensations of craving and need.

When he felt the tiniest, smallest warmth of a new emotion, one Drift didn’t understand, he cut the connection, dropping back into his outward awareness with an almost painful rush.

Drift wanted it, Drift wanted him so much it was dizzying, and he found himself reeling at the knowledge. But… It didn’t change anything…

“I… Still took advantage of you.” But he could feel his spark shrink when Drift still looked confused.

“But I wanted you to?” 

“We’ll… We’ll talk about it again, when this has sunk in a bit…” Drift nodded miserably, and unplugged his cables. While Ratchet tidied his own away, he was struck by a sudden realisation. “Wheeljack! He– he damn well knew this!” Drift flinched away at his outburst, and ratchet was quick to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to get angry, not when… Not when he’d already taught Drift to fear such moods from him.

“Perceptor… When we linked up, he asked me if I was okay and… They said I could stay with them, if I wanted, but…” Ratchet automatically put his arm around Drift as he slumped into his side. “I wanted to stay. You– you’re so nice to me and I need to protect you.” _That_ had Ratchet spluttering.

“Protect me from what?!” That made Drift look up at him like he was an idiot, but he supposed he was one.

“Those shadowy guys, after you met the Prime. They’ve been following you a lot.”

Ratchet felt his lines run cold, a brand new horror creeping through his systems at the thought. Suddenly, the fact that he’d abused and enslaved a sentient being seemed to be the least of his problems, if he was being watched by _them_. He struggled to compute any of it, and he could already feel the ache of an overworked processor, too much in one day driving him almost to overheating.

“…What… What do I do…”

“I don’t know.” Neither of them did, and so they sat in silence. Eventually, Ratchet managed to focus on the one thing he needed to say, needed Drift to understand, so he pulled away and made sure Drift was listening as he stared down at him.

“You. I want you to be free. But if anyone finds out we’ll… We’ll be killed, I think. So… When we’re in public, I think we need to keep the act up, but when it’s just us, I have no right to tell you what to do. You are your own mech, and I’ll do my best to support you, and try to sort this out. I don’t know what we’re going to do, but... I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

“I know, I trust you.”

And Ratchet had no idea what else to do, save pull Drift into his arms and hope for the best.


	12. Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but kind of needed chapter. No warning, except that I baaasically got bored of looking at it, so it's not very well polished. I'll come back and edit it again when I can bring myself to sit through it, but I figured it'd be best to post now, and get to work on the next part instead of just staring at this for another week...

When Wheeljack opened his door to Ratchet and Drift the next day, it was a wonder the medic didn’t punch him. Wheeljack even seemed to be expecting it if the way he hurried back to let them in was any indicator, and they followed him to his lounge, where Perceptor stood to greet them politely. He’d rarely visited Wheeljack at his actual apartment; the engineer was even harder sometimes to pull from his work than Ratchet was, but today needed comfort and quiet, and perhaps a soft place to crash if they needed to break out the high grade to cope.

“How was your journey?” Wheeljack motioned to a comfortable seating area, where he and Perceptor sat opposite a stiff Ratchet and a miserable Drift.

“Fine.” It had been hell. All Ratchet had wanted to do was talk with Drift, but they couldn’t in public, and everywhere he looked had been drones, dim-opticed and half-dead, and it was a miracle he hadn’t purged. “Had to pay more, because we bought them on the day.”

“Yeah, they really like to screw you over with tickets.” The uncomfortable small talk descended into an uncomfortable silence, with Perceptor as the only one not looking at his feet. In fact he actually looked almost fidgety, and when a ping came from the kitchen he found out why, as Perceptor hurried away before returning with warmed, spiced energon.

“Uh, thank you.” He took it carefully, and watched as a cube was offered to Drift, who hesitantly took it.

“Drift?” Perceptor’s voice was quiet, and Ratchet tried not to listen in but it was impossible not to when both mechs were next to him. “You don’t have to wear the collar in here.” 

Any effort Drift had made to relax disappeared in an instant, and he stiffened, a hand automatically coming to his collar as he looked at Ratchet, optics clearly pleading for help.

“I… I don’t…”

“He wants to keep it on for now.” Perceptor looked like he wanted to argue, but Wheeljack chose that moment to wave him over and sit down again, and they sat in silence once more as they sipped on their drinks. Eventually, it became too much and Ratchet let out an angry huff of vents, that had Drift flinching and Wheeljack finally looking up at him.

“Ratch’?”

“Why…. Why didn’t you tell me?” Silence again, but this time it felt oppressive, and made Ratchet angry rather than awkward, and he let his engine growl again. “‘Jack!”

“You weren’t mistreating him! I know you would never but–”

“Now now, not these last few months, I mean why not when you found out? You should’ve told me years ago I… I could’ve helped…”

“I couldn’t tell anyone!” Wheeljack was twitching his leg, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d get up to start pacing and walking off his agitation. “You never know how people will react, or who’s listening in or… I just, I didn’t want to drag you through this with me…”

Ratchet was quiet, thoughts fighting to be spoken but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think about anything except the fact that his best friend hadn’t trusted him, and that he’d… That he’d let him abuse someone.

“…I hit him. I… I raped him Wheeljack, why…” He trailed off into a mumble, all fight suddenly leaving him, until he sagged tiredly and stared at the floor. Next to him Drift hunched in on himself even more, and Ratchet unthinkingly reached to grab his hand, and squeeze in some vague form of reassurance for them both.

“Percy, why don’t you take Drift and show him around?”

“Ah, yes that… Drift? Do you want to come with me? We can… Talk or just…” Drift checked with Ratchet, and at his nod hesitantly stood to follow Perceptor through into another room, and Ratchet clenched his hands into fists to fight the urge to call him back, to sit and help him through this.

“Ratchet?”

“He couldn’t say no…” Drift didn’t understand, but Wheeljack would, and he desperately needed someone to understand how he’d fragged up, to not sit and placate him and tell him it’d be okay. Of all of them, he was the one who didn’t deserve to feel miserable right now, but that didn’t seem to be stopping him. “He says he wanted it but… How could he?” Without a word, Wheeljack moved to come and sit next to him, and all it took was an arm around his shoulder and Ratchet was huddled into him, clicking out sobs as he hid in his friend’s neck and babbled about everything he’d done wrong. Eventually, he managed to get a hold of himself, but he still couldn’t bring himself to move, and so they sat cuddled together in silence, until Wheeljack’s voice quietly spoke up.

“I didn’t find out until my second drone. The research facility just hands them out, you know? Cheaper than a ‘real’ assistant and… and it doesn’t matter if there are any accidents.” Wheeljack was only barely holding his voice level. “Percy tells me I didn’t mistreat the first one, he’s looked through the memories but… It’s my negligence that killed him. And I hadn’t even _cared_. The explosion killed him instantly, and I knew I shouldn’t have had him go and check but I didn’t _think_ , and now… The next day, they just gave me a new one, tidied the mess away and let me get back to work.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Beaker… The second one, he was probably a worse actor than Drift. That’s how a lot of them deal with it you know, just pretend and try to get by, and the ones that can act well enough tend to live, and the others… don’t.

“He was more than happy to drop the act when I figured it out, said he was always worried he’d get discovered and destroyed. He’d been onlined for science though, so he wasn’t as… he didn’t have to go through a lot of stuff the ‘personal drones’ get put through. We talked about it, and I tried to look after him as best as I could…”

Ratchet wasn’t sure he wanted to know what happened, but he asked anyway.

“There’s a sort of resistance movement, mostly made up of mechs in the know, and they’re trying to save as many drones as they can, while the more prolific ones battle for their rights but… it’s not easy… we found it, and Beaker made friends, and so I staged another explosion, said he’d been completely destroyed in the fire, and they gave me a new one. Did it a couple more times before they gave me Percy, and said he’d be the last one. Didn’t want to waste more resources on me I guess.”

More silence, but they drew away from each other and sat comfortably, knees touching while they thought on it all.

“Drift’s… he’s been abused so _much_ , I don’t know where to start…”

“Well, just treat him like you’d treat me or Orion, I think… I think that’s the best way to start. Encourage his freedom, hobbies and independence, that sort of thing… and when he’s more comfortable, and sort of understands then I guess that’s when you should try to talk to him? I dunno, sometimes it’s good to talk through trauma, sometimes it’s not.. But you’re smart, and you’ll work it out.”

“He thinks I don’t ‘want’ him any more. He’s keeping the collar, because it’s the only proof he has that I won’t get rid of him or something.”

“Well, you do don’t you? Want him I mean?”

“I can barely stand to look at him, knowing what I’ve done…”

“Well, you need to get over that as soon as possible if you want to be there to support him”.

“…I can’t touch him again, but he wants… I felt over the hardline just how much he _wants_ me…”

“Sexually? I’m probably not the best person to speak to about this but… if he wants you, and you want him, why not?” Ratchet had actually wondered about the clumsy way Wheeljack had divulged _that_ information, but he guessed it made sense now. If Drift knew neither Wheeljack or Perceptor would abuse him like that, then it was no wonder he was so relaxed around them when they visited. Still, that didn’t make what Wheeljack said right.

“Why not?! It’s an abuse of power, and he needs–I… he needs to learn to be independent of me, find his own life, find someone he really… he _really_ loves, not just the first mech who didn’t hurt him in an interface.”

“Ratchet. This situation is more fragged up than anything you could have ever planned for. Try giving him space, but… but at the end of the day, maybe it’ll help too. When I got Percy, he was cold. Aloof. Still is sometimes but… we grew close, the trauma of it all helped us grow closer, and he might not have been through everything Drift had, but he’s suffered in his own ways. Emotional bonding, and just… just _being_ _there_ for each other, it helps. And if you two want to do that and rub your arrays together at the same time, I trust you not to frag it up.”

“…I’m gonna be visiting a lot more. He needs friends, and if you guys are all he can have right now, I need your help in this.”

“Sure. Percy really likes him anyway.”

“What’re they up to right now anyway?” There was a brief pause as Wheeljack commed Perceptor.

“Apparently Drift’s beating Percy’s aft in some sort of game, and we’ve been invited to join in if you want.”

“…Yeah okay.” It actually sounded good, like a reprieve in the misery he was wading through. Drift looked up when they entered, but unlike most times, he didn’t even flinch, just handed a control pad to Ratchet and shuffled over to let him sit down, and proceeded to destroy all of them.

* * *

“Well, what books do you like?” Ratchet’s voiced was hushed, despite it being only himself and Drift in that corner of the store. He’d wanted to buy him some things, anything that he might want to make his life a little more comfortable and interesting, and though his arms were already full of bedding and pretty throw cushions, he hadn’t thought to check what sort of things Drift found he liked reading.

“Uh…” They both stared at the display, a thousand ‘pads and hard-sheet copies of novels stretching from ceiling to floor. He didn’t know where to begin, especially since his own tastes tended to simply flit between terrible erotica, and dry non-fictional essays, and he doubted Drift would appreciate either.

“What’s the one I saw you reading the other day?”

“That was left by Orion Pax, it’s a sort of romance ‘pad I think.” If Drift’s blushing audials were anything to go by, it wasn’t so much a ‘think’ as ‘he’s read it cover to cover five times already’. “It’s called ‘ _The Gladiator’s Admirer._ ’”

“Orion left that did he? Primus…” He wasn’t even surprised.

“He left another, ‘ _Love in the Pits of Kaon_ ’. The sequel should be out soon.” Well, at least Orion’s love life was living up to his ridiculous novels.

“You see any you want?”

“Uh…” Drift wandered up and down hesitantly, though wandered further with a nod from Ratchet, who watched as he tentatively reached up to pick up a cheap ‘pad. When he wasn’t told off, he found another, and another, until he had a small pile in his arms, and flushed cheeks. Ratchet gave the top one a glance and wished he hadn’t when the title ‘ _The Doctor’s Forbidden Prescription_ ’ burned itself into his optics. Well, maybe he could try giving him something a bit less cringeworthy, and he glanced at the top shelf to see if there was something to grab.

 _‘The Pit Fighter’s Concubine_ ’ sounded remarkably similar to the ones Drift had already read, and he passed by another few which had similar themes of fighting and fainting at the sight of spilled energon. He definitely bypassed the entire shelf of alien erotica, as if anyone would want to touch something so… squishy, and the next shelf of master and slave had him almost recoiling like he’d been slapped in the face.

“Master?”

“Just seeing if there’s something here you might like. How about… This one?” He juggled the bedding into one arm so that he could pick the ‘pad up. ‘ _Destiny on Luna Two_ ’, some sort of fantasy thing with swords and magic, and a fairly large dose of kissing in the rain, if the cover was to be believed.

When he added it to the top of the pile, Drift barely had to glance at the blurb before he ducked his head to smile, and Ratchet felt his spark flip in his chest, and he’d buy the whole store if it meant he got to see that again.

“Come on, let’s go pay for all this.” Drift followed as they found the cashier, and Ratchet was quietly thankful that the drone who served them seemed to be in good health. Or, at least he was until he watched some of the other datapads be rung up; ‘ _His Master’s Voice_ ’ was bad enough, but the drone actually seemed to pause when he had to touch ‘ _Enslaved and Loved_ ’, and Ratchet avoided even looking at him until he had to hand over his payment card. Primus but he hoped his buying habits weren’t on any sort of corporate record anywhere.

He’d have to show Drift how to buy things online, so he could read as much weird erotica as he wanted, without Ratchet ever having to know what it was.

The trip home was quiet, but Drift was practically vibrating with excitement as they carried his stuff upstairs, and Ratchet left him to arrange it while he got them some energon. When he wandered into his room, cubes in hand, Drift had already stacked the ‘pads neatly on the side table, and was fluffing up and rearranging the pillows to his liking, while wearing the extra blanket around his shoulders.

“Here, drink up.” Tomorrow they’d need to sort out the hidden stash, before anything spoiled too badly, but they could just enjoy their night for now. “Looks comfy. You like it?”

“Yes m– Ratchet, thank you.” He sounded genuinely happy, and Ratchet could see a smile even as he tried to hide it. “Can… Can we use this stuff in your berth?”

Oh. He’d hoped to get away without having this conversation yet, but… Oh well.

“Drift, we need to stop sleeping together. Stop interfacing.” Already Drift’s happiness had shattered, and he looked like his spark had broken, but Ratchet forced himself to carry on. “It’s not right, I kept you as a slave and you didn’t have a choice and I shouldn’t… You need space, to work out how you feel…” And he needed space to try and force himself to not feel anymore, to avoid temptation.

“But… I want you, and I thought… That you wanted me?” His voice was small, and the blanket around his shoulders was pulled tight as he huddled away.

“Just because I don’t want to interface, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you but… We need to set boundaries, it’ll help…”

“But… Yes Ratchet…” He thought his spark would collapse. It was too much like Drift’s mumbled ‘yes masters’ all over again, but he couldn’t find the words to explain, or to make it better.

“Do you want to come read with me? Watch ‘vids?” The request sounded stupid even to him.

“Thank you but… Please can I recharge?”

“Of course, you don’t need to ask.”

“Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” if anyone it was him who should be begging forgiveness, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

* * *

He managed to lie awake for two hours before the sobs started, the faint cries heard easily in his empty apartment, and he wanted to drown in his guilt as he lay and listened to Drift cry and click, alone and… And unloved, as far as he thought.

He didn’t even manage to endure it for ten minutes, too weak and emotional to ignore both his and Drift’s pain, so he pulled himself from his lonely berth and went to see what was wrong.

“Drift?” He knocked quietly, and the cries hushed, but as he poked his head into Drift’s room it felt like his insides were twisting. “Drift, you don’t have to hide…” Because that’s the only word he could think to describe the way Drift was balled up in his blankets, hazy optics the only part of him visible as he peered out from his pile.

When he stepped closer, the optics disappeared, and the ball huddled even smaller.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to, I won’t–”

“Ssh, it’s me who should be sorry.” He put out a hand, to try and stroke along Drift’s head or back, but a hand shot out of the bundle and grabbed him, and Drift looked desperate even as he avoiding look at the medic.

“…Please…” Drift didn’t look like he was releasing his hand anytime soon, and Ratchet was so weak and wanted to help in any way he could…

“Come on, my berth’s bigger.” Drift squeaked and released his hand as he bent to pick him up, blankets and all, one arm under his knees while the other held him again his chest. With minimal fuss he managed to stoop and pick up a couple of pillows too, and then he took Drift and his next into his room, where they held each other tightly under the covers. Hopefully he’d be stronger tomorrow.


	13. For the Best

Waking up with Drift cuddled into his arms felt right, and falling into recharge with him, Drift looking up at him sleepily as he succumbed to his own tiredness… That felt so damn perfect too, so surely he couldn’t protest when something felt so good? At least that’s what Ratchet kept telling himself each night, when he inevitably failed to kick Drift out of his berth and into his own room. Each morning he awoke, trying to tell himself that this would be the last time, that he’d be stronger that evening, but in the end he was just weak, and Drift was suspiciously good at getting into the berth before him, snuggling in and looking too comfortable to move before Ratchet had even made it to the door.

At least he’d managed to stop himself from touching Drift inappropriately, even if it had meant a couple of early morning trips to the washracks, alone, to sort himself out. Pit but he hoped this would ease off; there were only so many times he could jerk off like an embarrassed newframe in the showers, but it was like his frame completely ignored all his will, and took ‘don’t even look at Drift that way’ to mean ‘get as revved up as possible when the kid’s in the same room’.

And wasn’t that another miserable thought, that Drift, despite everything he’d lived though, was barely old enough to be considered legally responsible for himself. Ratchet had looked over his history one night, when the allure of Drift’s frame in his berth was too much to bear, and he’d sobered himself up pretty quickly just reminding himself of what he was trying to atone for, to help Drift move on from. Pit, but he had students in his class older than Drift who were still naive little brats, barely functioning enough to attend school, let alone be allowed out into the real world without their guardian’s supervision.

Drift had been through so much, and somehow still managed to come out of the other side a wonderful and considerate mech, and Ratchet would sooner remove his interfacing protocols and array than taint that any more than he already had.

* * *

“Are your hands okay?” Ratchet hadn’t even realised he’d been rubbing them together, until Drift’s voice piped up from somewhere on the floor behind him, and he turned with a frown to find the mech sat in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by different ‘pads on who knew what.

He’d never seen anyone as happy in his life, as when he’d subscribed to an online library service and shown Drift how to order whatever it was he wanted to read or watch.

“Yeah, Rung fixed up the last dents the other day. You know we have a table and chairs right? You don’t have to sit on the floor.” He shrugged as he waved towards them, but Drift just gave them a glance before dismissing them, mumbling something as he turned back to his ‘pad, and Ratchet watched as he read a few lines and then reached for another, to cross-reference or look up a word perhaps.

He’d tried to work out what Drift liked about the floor, other than the ability to make a blanket nest on it, but Drift was still a little hesitant about expressing his own wants and needs, even if he was getting slightly better at initiating conversation, asking for help and expressing his opinion, when asked at least. Progress, slow and steady, but Drift was coming out of his shell, especially around Wheeljack and Perceptor whenever they visited, and it gave him some hope for the future.

“I’m going to the clinic soon, do you want to come?” He was meticulous about asking what Drift wanted whenever he could, from whether or not he wanted fuel, to a shower or just to come with him on quick shopping trips. More often than not, Drift would follow him wherever he went, but it’d been a wonderful sense of progress when he’d once mumbled that he wanted to stay home, to watch a movie that would be on that afternoon.

Drift looked unsure for a moment, fiddling with the ‘pad in his hands as he worked to find words.

“Will First Aid be there?” Drift glanced at Ratchet, gauging his reaction, and visibly cheered up when Ratchet smiled at him.

“No, just you and me, and whoever drags their frame in for repairs.”

“Then yes, please? It’s nice when I don’t have to pretend so much.” Drift’s optics lit up, and Ratchet had to abort his interface protocols immediately when the kid smiled up at him.

* * *

Work was hell, life was hell, and everyone he knew could kiss his exhaust because he wasn’t dealing with them anymore. If it wasn’t rich, entitled brats, then it was rich, entitled politicians and their equally rich and entitled friends, all demanding his attention while acting like it was a privilege for him to shove his hands in their internals.

At this point, he was genuinely considering leaving, just finding a slum in Kaon to hide in; he could treat miners, get paid in the energon he needed to stay alive, and he could leave Drift with Wheeljack, happy in the knowledge that he’d be safe and well cared for with his friends.

Or maybe Drift would come too, they could get rid of the collar, get new optic lenses and he’d just be his pretty little medical assistant, and no one would be any the wiser and they could live happily in the filth of the slums, far away from meddling crankshafts and idiots who had nothing better to do than frag him off.

‘Your berth toy not with you today, professor? Shame, I liked having something nice to look at while you droned on.’

‘It was a shame you didn’t come to the party, but oh perhaps your invitation was lost?’

‘I’ve always found your… industrious type of frame quite endearing, quaint in a way.’

And on, and on, as if he gave a frag what the idiots he dealt with thought about him. Of course if his pit of a week wasn’t bad enough, he’d pinched a line in his wrist, so he’d have to fix it before he could even recharge or drink to forget it all. That was even if they had any high grade in stock; Drift had gotten antsy the last time he’d drunk himself into a stupor, and who could blame him with how he’d treated him last time, and the morning after he’d given the few remaining cubes to Orion.

He’d actually tried to pour them away- the loss of the credits he’d spent on it wasn’t worth making Drift on edge every time he came home miserable, but that had been even worse apparently. Wasting fuel was clearly a no go around a mech who’d been almost starved to death, and it had been a miserable day for everyone.

But… Calm. He had to be calm. He’d been staring at his own front door for a while already, trying to force the bad mood from his head so that he didn’t upset Drift. Frag but he just wished–

Calm.

Several minutes later, he eventually opened the door and dragged his sorry frame into his… surprisingly dim apartment?

“Drift?”

“Oh, you finally came in!” There was nothing sarcastic about Drift’s tone, and he looked genuinely pleased to see him as always, though Ratchet had never seen him quite so eager to usher him into their home.

“Are you okay?” If he sounded suspicious, it’s because he was.

“Y-yeah I just…” And just like that Drift’s confidence seemed to evaporate, and the unsure little drone was huddling before him again. That definitely wouldn’t do, not when he’d been so happy, so Ratchet stepped forward, placed a hand on Drift’s shoulder and quirked a smile when Drift looked up, clearly confused.

“You just seem really excited, I like it. So, what’ve you got to show me?” Drift seemed to war with himself, fidgeting on his feet before he pulled Ratchet to follow him, and led him to one of the empty spare rooms that Ratchet had mostly forgotten even existed. Hesitantly, Drift opened the door to let him inside, and Ratchet felt his mouth fall open in shock.

Little lights filled the dark room, draped over old, empty storage crates, hanging from the ceiling, and scattered all over the floor. Drift had made some sort of nest in the middle, and it looked like he’d liberated every soft furnishing in the apartment, but Ratchet had no complaints as he was led over to the centre of the nest, and gently pushed to sit down on the pile of cushions. In front of him was a side table, dragged from the main room, covered with one of the drying towels from the washracks, and a bowl filled with some sort of liquid.

Quietly, Drift knelt opposite him, and with gentle hands reached over to tug Ratchet’s own hands up, until they were resting on the small table in between them.

“Drift?”

“I… I hope this is alright…”

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is.” He hummed happily though, when Drift took both his hands in his, and soothed a thumb over the aching palms. “Where’d you get the lights?”

“Online.” He said it so proudly that Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to comment, though he’d be checking his credit account later. “And this… It’s something I’ve been reading about. Wing… He taught me the basics…”

“The mech from the church?”

“Mm.” Drift definitely looked like he didn’t want to discuss that any further, so Ratchet instead focussed on the gentle pressure on his hands, the relaxing way Drift touched and stroked, and soon enough he felt like all his earlier worries were slipping away, gone to another realm, while in this one there was only the touch on his hands, and Drift’s determined face, highlighted beautifully in the dim lights.

When he was suitably blissed out just from a gentle massage, the touch disappeared, and he was left to watch as Drift poured something into the bowl of liquid. An oil of sorts, and the smell hit him before he properly worked it out. An exotic sort of scent that he’d never encountered before, but the smell was heady and relaxing all the same, and he opened his vents wide to properly appreciate it.

His hands were lifted carefully and moved to sit in the basin of what turned out to be oil, the sort used for soaking in, getting deep into the frame to condition at the very protoform, and he was left to sigh and luxuriate in the sensation, while Drift organised some supplies. He grew more interested when he saw Drift pull out a selection of tiny tools, solvent and degreaser, and a glance over Drift’s shoulder showed a can of red spray paint, as well as a bottle of paint stripper.

A full hand maintenance then, and his engine purred at the thought. He trusted Drift to know what he was doing, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t fix any problems himself, but Primus this was a luxury he hadn’t indulged in for years, and for Drift to just shower it on him after such an awful week? By the allspark he had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky.

He watched Drift arrange his tools, luxuriating in the sensation of the oil seeping into every part of his hands, and it was hard to stifle his moan when Drift finally picked one hand out, gently rubbed the excess oil free, and began to carefully massage it again, until Ratchet was limp and his optics dimmed. Then a tool came out, a small one that Ratchet recognised as his own, that Drift must’ve found while cleaning, and then Drift set to work on prying his outer plating off, wriggling the tool into each seam until he found the minuscule connecting latch to push it open and ease each segment off. It was painless, save perhaps for the occasional pinching sensation as his neural connectors disengaged, which only proved that Drift was taking the utmost care and attention in his task, and Ratchet continued to watch fondly as the backs of his hands, and then the palms were carefully removed and placed to the side in a shallow bowl of solvent. Already he could see the red pigment from the paint colour the fluid as the chemical dissolved it, and by the time Drift had dropped the first segment of finger-plating in, he could see the dull silver of base metal in places.

Watching the paint dissolve away was almost as relaxing  as the way Drift worked over his fingers, meticulous as his hands were reduced to the protoform and inner tools, which Drift was careful to avoid touching as he worked. Ratchet would tune them up himself later; they were really the only part of his frame that he routinely maintained, but clearly he hadn’t been doing as good a job as he’d liked to think, and he wondered if he’d be able to fit in an oil soak somewhere more regularly in his schedule.

One hand stripped, and then it was placed back in the oil for Drift to repeat his actions on the other one, and Ratchet had no real idea of how much time had passed since he was dragged in here and ‘forced’ to relax more than he had in years.

When both hands were stripped, Drift left him to soak while he took a soft cloth to the plating, and Ratchet watched him carefully rub all the excess paint off, clean each tiny piece until it was gleaming, and set it down on a clean tray. Even watching Drift’s hands work over the plating seemed to relax Ratchet, and he didn’t realise he’d slipped into a light doze until his hands were picked up again, and he was dragged back to awareness by Drift massaging and rubbing his protoform.

“How long was I out?” His voice was slurred, both from sleep and the warm pleasure coming from Drift’s touch.

“Not too long.” He gestured with his head over his shoulder, though didn’t take his optics off Ratchet’s hand in his. “Spray painted the plating, should be ready to put back soon.”

Ratchet only hummed in reply, too blissed out to really respond. Spray painting was good though, it would mean an even, thin coat rather than the shoddy blotches of paint he did for himself when touching up.

He felt weightless, like the world was far away, and all that was grounding him was Drift’s hands on his. Thumbs rubbed up the back of the tensor-cables, smoothed along each strut and manipulated every wire and joint they could find, until Ratchet was certain he’d never felt quite so good in his life. They sat like that together, hands entwined, until Ratchet thought he might fall into recharge again, and he was once more pulled from his stupor by Drift moving, bringing back the pristine plating and carefully clicking it back in place.

As the neural sensors came back online bit by bit, Ratchet swore his hands had never felt so good, and he told Drift as such.

“Uh, thanks…” He blushed and ducked his head, and Ratchet smiled even though he couldn’t see it.

“I’m serious, this has been a wonderful treat, and now I’m wondering how to repay the favour.”

“You don’t have to, please…” Drift was quiet as he slid the last few parts of metal on, and when the sensors had re-calibrated, Ratchet flexed his hands, almost in awe.

“No, I mean it. You didn’t have to do this for me, and I want to thank you.” He helped Drift push the table aside. “You want a massage? I’m pretty wiped now, but tomorrow maybe?”

“No, it… Don’t worry.” And despite his best effort, Drift shrunk in on himself again, and avoided looking at him.

“Drift? What’s wrong?” Because something clearly was. He was patient while Drift seemed to struggle with himself, fidgeting and uncomfortable, until he finally looked up and blurted out his reply.

“Can… Can we interface? Please, I miss it. I miss you…”

Ratchet’s spark seemed to flip painfully in his chest. Oh Drift...

“Drift, we can’t.” He stepped closer, reaching out to tug Drift into his arms before sinking down with him, settling into the nest of cushions and blankets. He didn’t want to move, and he worried if they left the room Drift might close up on him again. “It’s… We can’t.” He’d tried to explain it, but Drift didn’t seem to understand.

“I– I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” It was well and truly his own, and he’d be apologising to Drift for the rest of his life, if only he could get Drift to understand why. Why he was the one in the wrong, why he couldn’t touch him, why he wasn’t strong enough to be what Drift needed. “Come on, lay with me?”

They bundled together in the nest on the floor, and Ratchet looked at the way Drift stared at him in the dim lights, and thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful, and Primus if only he could make this mech happy, he’d never ask for anything again. He could feel the way Drift’s hands trembled on his chest, so he brought one of his own up to lace their fingers together, his other arm holding tight around Drift’s back, keeping the blankets tight around their frames.

“Drift,” He pressed a quick kiss to the crest of his forehelm, making every effort to keep it chaste and comforting as possible. He didn’t know how his words would come across, but he needed to say them anyway. “You’re wonderful, and so perfect, and I want you to know that no matter what happens, I just want you to be happy. I know you don’t believe me, but… I care about you, so damn much it hurts sometimes, and I just want you to live a little, find out for yourself what you want and need, instead of settling for a grumpy idiot like me.” His voice cracked halfway through, but he carried on, until he was whispering against Drift’s helm.

“I know…” Drift’s voice whispered back up to him. “But I think I like grumpy idiots.”

It was the closest to a joke he’d ever heard from Drift, and he couldn’t stop himself from huffing a laugh and pulling the brat closer.

“You read too many of those romance books. Don’t think I don’t know what happens in them; pretty little mechs wooing their way into the sparks of lonely, hostile beasts, who just happen to look good when they brood at windows, hmm?”

“Mm, ‘cept you never look good when you brood.” He could feel it when Drift pressed a kiss against his chest and smiled, and Ratchet had to force his fans to stay offline. “I like it when you smile though…”

“S– same.” The kid was going to be the death of him. “Now come on, recharge and tomorrow we’ll see about giving you that massage alright?”

His answer was a sleepy mumble, and Drift squeezing his hand, and Ratchet waited until he heard Drift slip offline before pressing another kiss to his helm.

* * *

Drift was being a little crankshaft. It took him a couple of weeks to notice, but there were only so many times the brat could ‘accidentally’ drop something and bend down for it, aft up and always in just the right place for Ratchet to see. Only so many times he could stretch his entire frame, arms high above his head and flared his plating until Ratchet was forced to look away.

Walking in on Drift in the washracks, shouting Ratchet’s name in pleasure while he self-serviced? Too much to bear, and he’d had to run in there as soon as Drift was out, so that he could sit under a cold shower until he was shivering.

He’d given up on trying to make Drift recharge alone too; every night Drift either asked to watch a movie with him, and they’d curl up together on the sofa and slip into recharge, or the brat would be in his bed before he got there, and Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to kick him out. The one night he’d collapsed on the sofa alone, he’d woken up wrapped in a blanket, with Drift draped on him like an overgrown pet, and aborting his interface protocols from that thought had been genuinely painful.

But he just couldn’t work out why. He thought he’d finally gotten the message across, and Drift had behaved himself for a couple of days, had even seemed to be getting used to the idea of some sort of platonic, ‘face-less cohabitation, and yet now…

Now he was already huddled under his blankets, yellow optics peeking out at him, as if daring Ratchet to kick him out. He should’ve, he really should’ve, but he was weak, and tired, and not in the mood for Drift’s games, and Primus it felt nice to flop down next to him, and have a warm frame cuddle into him.

* * *

He needs Drift to stop, but he doesn’t know how to bring the topic up without sounding like a fool, and a part of him truly delights in watching Drift clean the floor, on his hands and knees while his aft waves temptingly in the air.

In the end he manages to drag his optics away, and his hand is already on his spike before the washrack door is closed, and his overload is muffled and almost painful in its intensity.

* * *

He stopped saving footage from the surveillance cameras the day after he found out about Drift’s sentience, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t forced to see what the mech gets up to when he’s not home, and he desperately wishes he’d taught Drift how to delete his search history on the console.

That night it’s a struggle not to think about the mech in his arms, and the ‘multi-speed/settings/attachments ‘Sybian’’ that Drift had apparently looked into extensively while Ratchet was at work.

* * *

The next time he hears Drift self-servicing in the shower, he truly considers removing his interface equipment. Possibly there and then, because ripping the thing out had to be less painful than the ache that seemed to settle in his frame whenever he looked at Drift these days.

* * *

Drift eating energon treats had never made him want to frag him into the ground before, but the way the brat kept licking his fingers, sucking each one clean before popping the next one in his mouth…

* * *

Ratchet couldn’t fix this, not when he couldn’t control himself around someone who needed him to be strong for the two of them. He couldn’t even blame Drift for trying so obviously to ‘seduce’ him, when it was so clear he craved the mech, but he couldn’t let himself cave, no matter how much they both wanted it.

His frame was weak, but his mind was still sober enough to call Wheeljack from work one day, and desperately beg a favour.

* * *

The items in his subspace felt heavy as Ratchet and Drift drove the final leg of their journey to Wheeljack’s. Next to him, Drift was quiet but clearly eager, and he’d been excited as normal when he said they’d be visiting their friends.

It didn’t take long for Drift to run off with Perceptor when they arrived- he liked Wheeljack well enough, but he seemed much closer to Perceptor, perhaps because he always had something new for him to try, a new book to read or game to play. Ratchet was happy, beyond overjoyed in fact, that Drift had connected so well with Wheeljack’s ‘drone’, and found a real friend and someone other than himself to bond with.

It made doing this slightly easier, knowing that Drift had someone close to help him.

“Here’s… This is most of his stuff, I’ll send the rest when I get home.” Wheeljack took the offered items– bedding, a cushion and handful of datapads– and held them awkwardly in his arms, not taking his optics off Ratchet’s dejected frame.

“How do you want to do this? You need to say goodbye Ratch’, you can’t just… abandon him…”

“I know…” But he wasn’t sure he could. He knew that he was about to break Drift’s spark, and he couldn’t bring himself to watch it happen.

“I’ll go put these in the guest room. Why don’t you stay for a meal at least?”

Ratchet nodded, did as he was told as he was gestured to sit on one of the worn sofas, and there he sat, staring at the wall until Wheeljack came back to sit next to him.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but Wheeljack was a quiet, solid companion in his misery, and all too soon Perceptor and Drift came back, the latter smiling as he rambled on about something to his friend.

How was he supposed to do this. How was he supposed to hurt this mech, and live with himself afterwards. His only hope was that Drift would settle, find out how much better off without Ratchet he was, and maybe one day he could see Drift again, apologise and hope he finally understood why Ratchet had to do it.

A cube of energon entered his field of vision, and he took it automatically, hesitating only when he saw that the one who offered it was Drift, who seemed worried but went back to sit with Percy when he was called over. He drank it all down in a couple of gulps, and while his processor seemed disengaged from reality, he stood.

“I need to go.” He watched Drift nearly choke on his energon in a rush to finish it and stand. “No! No… Drift… You… I need you to stay.”

“Ratchet?” Drift was confused, but Ratchet could see when he worked it out, when the confusion left his expression and turned to a dawning horror.

“I need… I can’t look after you anymore.” His voice was hollow, and the world seemed blurry and out of focus, but the hurt and betrayal on Drift’s face was crisp and clear, and an image that would plague him even in the Well.

“But– no! Ratchet, please!”

He was shaking, trying to step backwards, but Drift had caught onto his hand, was clutching it hard as he begged and pleaded to go home with Ratchet.

“Drift, come on, we’ll look aft–” Drift batted Wheeljack away, trying to pull Ratchet back into the room even as he begged.

“No! No, Ratchet, please! I’ll be good, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean– I’ll be good, please don’t leave me!” Drift sobbed, clutched at any part of Ratchet he could reach, but Ratchet couldn’t even feel it, too numb to do anything more than stutter that they needed to do this, that he couldn’t be what Drift needed.

It was like an out of body experience. Drift falling to his knees, begging and wailing, and trying to pull himself out of Perceptor and Wheeljack’s grip, while Ratchet stood and looked on in a daze, fumbled an apology before running out of the room.

He wasn’t even aware that he was driving until he was halfway home, processor still numb while his chest felt empty.

He’d never seen someone look so hurt, never seen someone’s spark so clearly shatter into pieces, and as he staggered into his apartment and collapsed on his berth, he couldn’t even click out the building sobs, frozen where he lay with the single thought that his berth had never felt so empty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try and get the next chapter out soon, so we don't all have to be miserable for too long


	14. Sinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I seriously didn't mean to disappear like that but life got hectic and this chapter has been the bane of my life. I'm not really happy with this, but I think it's at the point where I just need to post it so I can move on with the story, and I'll come back to edit it later :/
> 
> It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger and I'm sorry, but the next chapter's probably going to be huge and it was a good place to cut it off. I'm at a con this weekend, but after I'm going to work my ass off to get the next part done and get it out asap~
> 
> Super special thanks to the anons who helped edit this a little on Google Docs, thanks to them is a little more bearable to read

Ratchet woke. At least, he thought he did; his processor was still foggy and he didn’t think he’d actually recharged, but his internal alarm was telling him he had a shift at the hospital later and that he’d better crawl out of bed. Still, he had a while yet, and with a moan he turned it off, stretching his arm out and blindly seeking out Drift’s frame to tug over and warm him up. It was unusual for Drift to not be cuddled up against him, but not unheard of, though when he couldn’t find a trace of him, nor even a warm patch to suggest he’d woken before him, Ratchet dragged himself up to online his optics and cast a look around.

When he caught sight of his own dirty frame, the night before came flooding back.

He’d… He’d abandoned Drift, for his own good but that didn’t stop the pain in his spark or the roiling in his tanks and fuel lines as his processor reminded him of Drift’s reaction. Ratchet was weak, too weak to stop himself and be the support Drift needed, and because of it, because of his own failings and inability to control himself, he’d only hurt him more. Drift’s face wouldn’t leave his mind, the utter betrayal and fear, and Ratchet fell back hard onto the berth, his vocaliser locking up as he replayed the night before over and over.

He lay there, thoughts spinning along with his tanks. Occasionally he found himself sobbing, clutching the berth pillow, imagining that he could still smell Drift on it, though the logical, unattached part of him told him not to be so ridiculous.

Eventually, worn from his own emotions, he somehow managed to haul himself up, drag himself to the washrack, where he stood under the spray for what felt like hours, blindly rubbing a cloth over himself to at least remove the worst of the grime, until he dimly thought he might be presentable enough to hide in his office for the rest of the day.

Somehow he found his way into the kitchen, though seeing the carefully stacked energy cubes only brought a new stab of guilt. The apartment felt too empty, lifeless, and every single thing reminded him of Drift, of what he’d lost.

No, not lost. Pushed away. Perhaps if he told himself it was for the best, he might be able to forget his own feelings, though he imagined he’d take the image of Drift’s betrayed expression the the pit.

It’s for his own good. He’ll flourish with those two, and he’ll be safer. It’s for his own good…

It was probably only that litany running through his helm, that got him out of the door. 

* * *

 

The next day was easier, if only because he still wasn’t certain if he was really awake or even alive.

Rung had honed in on him instantly, pushed him into his office and somehow managed to rearrange his schedule, so that Ratchet spent the entirety of yesterday staring listlessly at paperwork, signing his name whenever Rung pushed something into his field of vision. Rung hadn’t even asked what was wrong, just visited him when he could, brought him a warm cube of energon halfway through the day, and pat his hand comfortingly when their work day was over.

Somehow Ratchet had made it home alive, though he didn’t remember a single moment of the journey, and collapsed into his berth as soon as he got home. Recharge was… Easier to deal with than the gnawing emptiness inside, and he felt a distant relief when he checked an emergency ping from Rung, only to find his friend had managed to get him the next couple of days off work. There were a bunch of other messages he resoundly ignored, primarily Orion and Wheeljack, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face either of them in the foreseeable future.

His schedule clear, he slipped back into unconsciousness, clutching the pillow to his chest, and burrowing under the blankets Drift had filled his berth with.

* * *

 

Ratchet doesn’t really keep track of time anymore. He manages to turn up for his shifts at the hospital and university, and somehow does his job well enough that he doesn’t get too many strange looks. First Aid badgers him to go home whenever he turns up at the clinic, but the work there is simple and almost fulfilling, so he stays to fix broken struts, administer nutrient top-ups and flush systems, and he manages to forget about things for a while.

Until he’s back home, alone in his berth, and he can’t hold his thoughts back. He’s barely aware of the mess growing around him, energon cubes and dirty towels tossed wherever they fall from his hand, or data pads in piles where he thought he’d try to keep himself busy, only to lose interest almost instantly.

Rung suspects something, Ratchet’s sure of it, but he’s kept his questions to himself, and has been an invaluable support despite Ratchet’s silence on why he’s suddenly turned into a wreck.

Wheeljack’s stopped messaging so often, and Ratchet still can’t bring himself to check the messages he’d sent, merely marks them as ‘read’ to get them off his HUD. He’s told himself that he’ll look over them when he’s in a better mood, though who knows what that will be.

* * *

 

“How have… How’s work?” Orion isn’t uncomfortable, but he’s being cautious. It had taken a few weeks, but eventually Orion had stopped sending messages, and just started turning up wherever Ratchet was working, delivering a few ‘pads he thought Ratchet might like, and a cube or two. This time he’d dragged Ratchet out to a quiet bar, somewhere to talk, and for the first time in weeks Ratchet feels almost like himself.

“The same as ever really. Clinic’s going well though, First Aid is a good kid, he’ll go far.” The idle chatter came surprisingly easy, and the slight buzz from the high grade was enough to keep his mind from more miserable thoughts. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Uh… Good, Ratchet.” And like that, Ratchet’s slight good mood evaporated with the concerned look Orion gave him and his drink.

“What is it?” His voice was flat enough, that Orion visibly cringed and fiddled with his drink before explaining.

“I went to see Wheeljack– Ratchet!” He interrupted him before Ratchet could say anything. “You weren’t answering my messages, and it’s… You’ve been worrying us Ratch. We’re your friends, we don’t want to see you like this.”

“‘This’?” Ratchet managed to sound offended, even if he knew exactly what it was Orion was getting at.

“Unhappy. Disconnected. You’re hurting, but we don’t know how to help you, could you just… Give us a clue?” Ratchet scoffed into his drink before tossing back half the glass.

“Orion… This isn’t something you can help with.”

“You can’t just isolate yourself. None of us can help if we don’t know what’s hurting you, if you don’t talk to us.”

And there came the guilt. It might turn to anger later, but all Ratchet had at that moment was Orion’s beseeching look, the fade of his optics and twist in his mouth that Ratchet knew all too well meant he was desperate to do something. Except this time it wasn’t aimed at some poor mech in the street, but Ratchet himself, and his spark twisted to know that there was nothing Orion could do and he’d continue to worry.

“It’s really nothing. I’ll bounce back soon.”

“Is it to do with Drift?”

He almost dropped his glass, but managed to catch it at the last second, though it didn’t stop the world from reeling, his tanks and processor spinning at the reminder of why he was in such a state.

Drift.

He’d forgotten. For a blessed evening he’d managed to forget, but it was all coming back, and only felt ten times worse than it had before.

“Ratchet?”

“I–I gave hi– it. I gave it to Wheeljack.” He desperately grasped for a plausible reason. “I… I don’t…”

“You got too attached?”

“Y-yeah.” At some point while Ratchet was trying to steady himself, Orion had scooted around the table, and Ratchet couldn’t express how grateful he was when a firm, solid hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him just enough to turn his vocaliser off before he started sobbing in public.

“Ratchet, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s really not, Orion.” His words were strained as he forced the static out of them, not that it did much to disguise the fact that he was about to break down. “I messed up. I fragged up so bad, and now… Now he’s…. I want him back!”

Orion was quick to tuck him into his chest, hiding him from the room as he sobbed and curled up in Orion’s arms. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair, but he was trying so hard and it still fragging hurt, and he couldn’t even tell Orion why it hurt so badly.

“I saw it, when I visited Wheeljack. It’s… It doesn’t seem as lively, but it acted happy enough to see me. Asked how you were.” He hushed Ratchet as he whined lowly. “But it’s doing well enough. It’ll adapt to its new owner; Wheeljack’s concerned about you, you should really call him, but he treats Drift well, and that other drone of his is good company for it I guess? I don’t… I think you’re doing the right thing. It’s not good to get attached to these things, but you need help to get through it, Ratch, please let us help?” 

Ratchet couldn’t do anything but nod weakly.

“Let’s get out of here. Do you want company tonight? I can sleep on the sofa.”

Ratchet dimly thought about the state of his apartment, the filth and mess strewn everywhere, and the dents in the walls where he’d kicked out when his misery turned to anger.

“No, I’ll be fine. Just get me outside, and I’ll get home fine. Thanks Orion.”

* * *

 

He needed to call Wheeljack, but every time he sat in front of his console, or brought up his number on his internal comm unit, he froze.

In the end, help came in the way of a cheap bottle of Kaonian high grade. And perhaps another few cubes of random mixed grades that he’d found in Drift’s stash so long ago.

He barely had a chance to realise he’d called his friend before ‘Jack was picking up, and thankfully it was a voice only call.

“Ratchet! About fragging ti- you’re overcharged. You’re actually- no, you know what this is just perfect.” Ratchet doesn’t need to be sober to hear how fragged off Wheeljack is.

“‘Jack, I’m sorry, I need…” It was hard to find the words. “I’m so, so sorry…” And probably harder to understand them, with the way they slurred from his vocaliser.

“And so you damn well should be! It was bad enough you abandoned him in the first place, but you could have at least fragging well checked in once in a while.”

“I’m sorry, he… he deserves so much better…”

“Ratchet, this isn’t the sort of conversation to have while you’re drunk.” Ratchet only just realised that Wheeljack was whispering. Loudly, but still quieter than normal, which mean Drift or Perceptor must have been nearby which meant…

“‘Jack, ‘Jack I can’t see him, don’t tell him I called… Needs… Needs to grow and de-develop without me…”

“He’s barely left his damned room, Ratchet!” The words shot straight through the pleasant fog of ‘charge, and instantly Ratchet thought he’d throw up. “I’m not sure who’s more of a mess, you or him. Ratchet, please call me in the morning? Or better yet, come visit?” 

“I… Need to go, ‘Jack…. ‘M sorry…”

“Ratch–“

He cut the call, and fell back onto his berth, ignoring the sound of the bottle of high grade bouncing off and smashing on the floor. 

* * *

 

He thought a lot about Rung these days. They’d only slept together that once, admittedly with Drift too, but the mech was a good friend at work, and Ratchet had managed to bring himself to go out a few times with him recently. Ratchet had even managed to clean up the living area, and had invited him and Orion around once, and it had been a nice evening, if a little awkward when he’d shouted at Orion not to go into his berth room. The last thing he wanted either of them to see was the growing stack of empty cubes by the door.

But still… Rung. The mech was attractive, and had eagerly shown that he was up for more casual sexual encounters, though the way Ratchet’s thoughts drifted, ‘casual’ was the furthest from his mind.

Casual friends with benefits didn’t ask what Ratchet wanted, and what Ratchet was craving was punishment. The sort that would leave him a mess, perhaps with longer lasting marks than the usual paint transfers you got during a good ‘face. But he was craving it, craving the clearheadedness that came with a good dom ordering him around, and desperately craving just being able to feel something for a while. His mind had made itself up, it was just a shame his frame wasn’t on the same page.

Sticky fingers gave up from where they were stroking blindly at his valve and external nub. It felt almost nice, but there was nothing much else, no desire or need, and after spending half an hour rubbing his array with no sign of an encroaching overload, he figured he might as well give up. Even thoughts of Rung spanking the pit out of him weren’t doing it, nor the vague faceless mechs of his fantasies holding him down, or mewling up at him, and the instant a pretty, faceless white speed frame had dared cross his thoughts, the guilt was too much to bear.

He lazily wiped himself off with a towel and flopped back onto the berth. Another evening spent in then, though with no high grade in stock, he might as well recharge early.

* * *

 

During the day was fine, when there were enough distractions and things to do, and life continued as normal.

Night was harder. Being alone was harder, but he began to hate company. He wanted to go out, but made excuses whenever Rung or Orion invited him, and then he’d lie in bed and hate his friends for not being pushier, for not dragging him out and showing that they really cared.

Of course they cared, he told himself. He was being irrational. Rung had visited just the other day, and the last he saw Orion he’d ‘happened’ to have a box of sweets he found he didn’t want, and that they were Ratchet’s favourites wasn’t mentioned.

First Aid was constantly badgering him during the school day, bringing him energon and making sure he had the right lecture materials, and then on their days off and evenings he’d snap about Ratchet overworking in the clinic too. He’d been working there so much recently, he began to suspect he might soon run out of patients.

He had people who cared, but that didn’t stop his mind spiralling into a pit of self-pity, and in the end it became easier to drown it out with high-grade.

* * *

 

“Do you want to talk?”  Rung was calm and patient, sat reclined easily in his chair while Ratchet swished his cube of energon around. Rung’s office was nice; open and welcoming, and his little collection of toy ships was something interesting to look at when he, or other patients, wanted to avoid looking at Rung. 

He stared at his drink instead.

“I… Understand that you gave away your drone?”

“Who told you?” 

“Orion called. He’s concerned about you, we both are.” Rung picked up his own glass to sip, and Ratchet answered by knocking the rest of his own cube back. He stared at the empty glass.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I gave Drift away. Wheeljack’s got him, he’ll look after him properly.” He didn’t notice his slip until it was too late, but Rung doesn’t say a word, and Ratchet slowly looked up to judge how screwed he was, only to find Rung fiddling with his optic-enhancers.

“It’s normal, to feel depressed after losing something you love.”

“Yeah well, I need to get over it.” Maybe if he tells that to himself enough, he’ll finally believe it. “Get back to normal. It was just a drone, I lost enough of t-those pen ones.” He choked up, but managed to hide it with a cough, and Rung didn’t mention it.

“You were attached to it. It’s easy, so easy; they develop their own personalities and become such a fixture in your life… Losing something like that isn’t easy. It’s okay to be upset.”

Ratchet made some sort of noise, but he wasn’t really interested in the conversation. Unless Rung knew, really knew about the drones, then anything he said was just empty platitudes.

“Ratchet? Can I come by yours tonight?” Ratchet remembers the piles of empty cubes, the dirty rags and inches of dust everywhere. He’d cleaned up before, but it took no time at all until the place was trashed again, and it was getting harder to keep on top of it the longer time went on.

He grimaced when he remembered he purged energon by his bed, that he didn’t have time to clean up that morning.

“That’s probably… not a good idea.”

“I understand if you want your space, but… Company can help keep the demons away, at least for a while.” The way he speaks has Ratchet looking up again. Rung’s expression is open and caring as always, but his brow ridges seem tight, and even with the glasses Ratchet can see his optics are distant. He wonders what Rung’s been through.

“Yeah… Yeah, okay then, why not. It’s not gonna be pretty though.”

That night Rung helps clean his apartment with him, doesn’t say a word about the mess or the dirt, and in the end Ratchet asks him to stay, just to recharge. Clutching his friend’s frame feels enough like Drift that he recharges easily for the first time in weeks.

* * *

 

Rung stays over when he can, and Ratchet thinks more and more about ‘facing him, but he never acts on it. Their friendship has solidified into something else, something platonic and supportive, and he doesn’t want to ruin it for a single night of pleasure.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t find someone else.

“So is it true about the hands?” It’s a line he’s heard a million times before, but he’s not in the mood to berate the mech, not when he’s the only one who’s shown an interest that night, despite the bar being full to the brim.

Time used to be he could’ve taken a selection of these mechs home with him, and worn each of them out until it was time for his morning classes. He’d spent enough lectures during his student days with a mix of ten mechs’ transfluid trapped in his valve, and the memory was more than enough to heat him up now, and make him more interested in the mech’s flirting.

“Do you want to find out?” He smirks around the straw in his mouth, tilts his hips and poses like he’s done a million times before, tempting the mech into his personal space so they can talk without shouting. It feels like an act, like he’s moving his body as though it’s a puppet, and the outside charm doesn’t match how dull he feels inside.

They don’t talk for long. Clipper works in a warehouse somewhere, a manager or something else Ratchet doesn’t care about, and he’s tall and bulky, with strong hands and a cute smile, and he’s so Not Drift that Ratchet isn’t fighting off too many doubts as they finish their drinks and slip out of the bar.

Ratchet isn’t completely sure where he is; he’d decided on a bar further from his home or workplace, hoping that no one he knew would be there, but he booked a cheap hotel room earlier just in case he got lucky, or got too drunk to drive home, and after a few false starts they managed to stumble their way there, each groping the other’s frames and building a charge before they’d even got the keycard in the door.

It’s a basic room, but clean and this close to the city it’s soundproofed, so Ratchet doesn’t care when he moans loudly at Clipper’s mouth on his neck, and his hands between his thighs. They move to the wall, and then the berth, and Ratchet doesn’t complain when Clipper pins him under him.

Looked like Clipper hadn’t been as interested in Ratchet’s hands as he’d thought, but it wasn’t like he cared.

All too soon his covers were open, his valve slick enough for two thick digits to slip inside, and that was as much foreplay as they needed before a thick spike was pushing inside, spreading Ratchet wide and relieving an ache he hadn’t known existed.

They don’t look at each other.

The mech rolls his hips slowly, and then harder when Ratchet moans and pushes into it, and then harder again when Ratchet doesn’t tell him to stop, until they’re moving together,chasing their own overloads and pushing each other on.

Ratchet thinks he’ll have dents in the morning, but under the fog of pleasure and high grade, the pain feels good and it’s exactly what he needed.

Clipper overloads first, but he’s considerate enough to slip a hand between them, and jerk off Ratchet’s spike, until he grunts with his own overload and spills over himself.

“That was nice, thanks.”

“Yeah, you too.” Ratchet isn’t sure what else he can say. His frame feels more relaxed, and he’d needed the overload, but now the fog of pleasure has gone, he’s starting to wonder what next.

“It’s not late, do you mind if I uh,..” Clipper is clearly ready to go already, and Ratchet can’t blame him. He waves in the direction of the wash rack, and wipes himself off with the blanket while the other mech is out of sight. By the time Clipper emerges, clean and cheerful, if a little awkward, Ratchet is presentable and more than happy to say goodnight and wave him off.

Collapsing back on the berth, he wonders what next. The night’s still young. He’d planned to be out longer, and he’s not overcharged enough to slip into sleep.

In the end, he decides not to go out and look for someone else, and waits until he’s sober enough before he drives home, and lies awake in his own bed.

Two nights later, he rents the room again.

* * *

 

Ratchet was staring listlessly at a data pad when he got the call. He ignored it. Then again the next few times, until Wheeljack also sent a message with ‘emergency’ as the title, and tagged it with Drift’s designation.

He rang back instantly.

“What’s wrong?!”

“Drift’s missing. We can’t find him, and the surveillance cameras caught him leaving last night while me and Percy were recharging.”

For the first time in weeks, Ratchet feels something, but the ice crawling through his fuel lines and the shrill ringing in his head make him wonder if it was worth it.

 


	15. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

They looked everywhere. Wheeljack had already searched the areas around his home, and Perceptor was constantly monitoring any surveillance he could easily hack into without being detected. Ratchet wandered the Dead End until it was too dark to be safe, at which point he’d spend his night checking every news network for any hint of a mention of a wayward drone.

A week later, there was nothing, and Ratchet had run out of excuses to skip work.

He wanted to punch himself, though instead settled for kicking the wall until he couldn’t stand. He should never have removed the tracer, no matter that Drift was supposed to be ‘free’- and Ratchet had done _such_ a good job of easing him into that hadn’t he? He should have seen something like this happening, should have…

He should have done a lot of things, and the regrets _ached_.

By some miracle no one at work mentioned his scuffed feet the next day, even if they did glance and try to avoid his miserable mood. It didn’t matter how much he tried to keep it to himself, his anger and surliness came across loud and clear to everyone within sight, and they didn’t stay in sight for long. Ratchet knew he should at least pretend to give a damn, his job and ties to the Prime were the only things keeping him from complete social exile after all, but it was hard to even get up these days, let alone smile and put up with workplace politics.

At least his terrible mood didn’t hinder his ability to work- if anything the routine problems he had to deal with were just enough to focus him into day-to-day life and stop him drifting away entirely. Although, Rung continued to bring him energon and Ratchet was certain that his friend’s understanding smile kept him more grounded than any pride in his work ever did. Rung knew he didn’t want to talk, and would happily chatter about the hospital’s recent events to get him caught up, and Ratchet only had to grunt in the right places to keep the ‘conversation’ going. It was a fantastic set up.

“Would you like to get a drink tonight? It’s been a while since we last had some time together.”

“Huh?” It took a moment for the question to sink in, “Ah, no I- I really can’t. I need to get home.” To check the news and poke around the alleys on the outskirts of the towers he lived in. He kept having nightmares that Drift had tried to get home, only to collapse somewhere close by. Or even something to do with those thugs and Turmoil, or any other criminal activity that he turned a blind eye to down in the gutters. 

“Ah, not to worry then! Perhaps another day.” Rung smiled, nothing on his face suggesting he was offended or hurt, and his posture was relaxed and easy. He completely understood, and the warmth of the thought was almost enough to eclipse his misery for a brief moment.

“I look forward to it.” Ratchet offered a weak smile back for the first time in weeks.

* * *

“I think you should stay home as much as possible, just in case he comes back.”

“‘Jack it’s been two weeks, if he was coming back he’d be here by now!” Ratchet paced his living room, while on the main monitor Wheeljack slumped in his chair. It took a public transport and a bit of a drive to get to Wheeljack’s place, but the trip was doable in a day or two if you didn’t mind dusty unkept motorways and potholes. Two weeks was too long, and the longer Drift was missing, the more Ratchet sank into himself with panic.

“I just… I don’t think he’s gone forever, Ratch’. He wanted to get back to you, not disappear.” Ratchet knew, of course he did, but sitting at home, unable to do anything was driving him insane. It wasn’t helped when Wheeljack continued, “have you heard anything from the enforcers?”

Ratchet just glared at the screen. They both knew he’d have told Wheeljack the second he heard _anything_ , and the obvious change in conversation rankled. He forced himself to look away, and sighed. Wheeljack was just trying to help, keep his mind off the worst case scenarios and any questions from him had to be better than nothing. They were certainly a better response than he’d had when reporting Drift missing; the enforcer had barely managed to look as though they cared, and clearly had opinions on the subject. His parting mumble of _‘goddamn oversized sex toys’_ as he left said a lot about the general feeling the working-class had for upper class drones, and Ratchet couldn’t even say he blamed him, having been of that same opinion so many months ago.

Drones were still disappearing left and right, and one more to the list wasn’t going to make any difference. While the elite of Cybertron had the funds and power to make the enforcers work on the case, no amount of money could make them actually give a scrap about the lost property they were hunting down. It was understandable, but the enforcer’s lack of enthusiasm didn’t help Ratchet’s mood and desperate need to find Drift.

“Nothing from my ‘case worker’, but Pax says he’s still keeping an eye out.”

“Well hopefully we’ll hear back from him soon.”

“Yeah.”

The sudden silence was awkward. Ratchet had stopped pacing, and tried to look interested in tidying up the chaos that was on the table and couch, while Wheeljack just looked, presumably, at the desk in front of him.

Ratchet was inspecting a mostly full cube of high grade when Wheeljack quietly spoke up and startled him.

“It’s not your fault you know.”

“‘Jack…” Ratchet sounded weary.

“It’s _not_. I know you’re blaming yourself, but you were doing the right thing.”

Ratchet whirled to snarl at the monitor, cube forgotten and thrown to the floor in his anger.

“And look how well that turn out! I’m- Drift is missing! It was bad enough that I treated him like- like a damn sex toy, but then I abandoned him! And not only that, I clearly screwed him up enough that he thinks being my berth pet is good enough to run away from you for! I know you ‘Jack, you’d have only treated him well, frag you could’ve got him some real freedom, and he adores Percy, there was no reason for him to- instead he…” The anger evaporated as quickly as it had come, and Ratchet slumped without the anger holding him up. “Instead he wants to be stuck as my pet. I’m a fragging mess ‘Jack, look at this place, look at me. I can’t look after myself right now, let alone him. I can’t give him what he needs.”

At some point he’d collapsed on the couch, and his head felt heavy in his hands. He couldn’t look at Wheeljack right now.

Dimly he noticed the sticky mess from the dropped cube was gumming up his ankle. Probably a good job he hadn’t tried a sip.

“Ratchet, you’re a grade A crankshaft, but your spark is in the right place. You did what you thought was best. You treated Drift well enough that he wants to be with you,” Wheeljack sighed at Ratchet’s denial. “And anyway, if you want to treat him like a mech, surely you should start letting him make his own decisions? You’re right, I did offer to get him out to the underground network, he could’ve had an easy operation to change his optics, couple of frame upgrades and new documents, and he could’ve wandered off into the smoggy streets of Iacon to start a new life for himself. But he didn’t. He stayed with us, and stuck it out until he saw an opportunity to go and get what he wanted. He’s depressingly like you in that respect, though a damn sight better at pretending everything’s fine.”

“He doesn’t know any better.” The words were mumbled into his hands, but Wheeljack heard them anyway.

“Well then he’ll learn. He’s been through a lot Ratchet, they all have. Some need time and space to heal, others need gentle words or simple goals. Drift… I think Drift needs a good hard shove in the right direction, but then he’ll work it out for himself. But Ratchet, he’ll work it out a lot faster with someone who cares about him at his side.”

Ratchet moaned into his hands. “…When did you get so poetic?”

“Heh, Perceptor is _incredibly_ chatty when no one’s around, I pick up a lot of new words from him.” He heard the relief in Wheeljack’s voice now that he’d cleared some of the tension. “Recently he’s been poking around a lot of poetry and novels. I think he’s just too distressed to focus on the uh, science stuff, but he needs something to keep his mind occupied.”

“If Drift comes home talking like him, I’m sending him back.”

There was a moment of silence before they both broke into soft laughter. Primus but when was the last time Ratchet had felt like himself enough to laugh, let alone joke about something.

“ _When_ he comes home, I don’t expect to see either of you without the other for a full month at least.”

“Mm…” Now that he was thinking clearer, Ratchet suddenly recalled half of the conversation. “Wait, is it really that easy to pass him off as Forged?”

“Oh!” Wheeljack’s optics brightened at the change in topic to something he was clearly passionate and knowledgeable about. “Well, yes and no. It’s not hard to change optics and get a new frame, but the coding is a bit of a struggle. There’re a few mechs in the underground who know how to do it, but there’s a lot more drones that need help than they’re capable of working on. And I mean, there’s only so much you can do to make an rivet gun or energon dispenser look forged you know? So most of them stay with us, or get moved out to different uh, hubs. We don’t… We don’t get to rescue a lot of the ones like Drift. They’re expensive, the fact that Drift was even in the gutters in the first place is almost unheard of. We get a few from these sort of auction houses, or sometimes they’ll just be thrown out and they might manage to stumble on us.”

“It doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s… It’s not. We’re trying, but it’s not like we can do much. We can’t even really spread the word, or we’ll get found and ha, well. That’d be the end of that, and us.” The light in Wheeljack’s optics dimmed, and he stared at his desk. Ratchet continued to look vaguely in the direction of the floor.

“But… People need to know. As long as they think they’re just drones, they’ll keep abusing them. People aren’t all awful, I mean most will be horrified.”

“Yeah, but the ones who aren’t are the ones who’re funding it all. They’ll come out with some new non-sentience test, show it off to the world and then there’ll be a new shiny model to show off instead.”

“This… Everything’s so fragged up.”

“I know.” They shared a pensive silence for a few moments, until Wheeljack made a blatant show of stretching and fidgeting. “Anyway, you should go recharge, and I need to drag Percy away from the surveillance cameras before he collapses again.”

“Good night ‘Jack.”

“G’night.”

Ratchet was left in the dark when the monitor switched off. Quietly, he sent a private message to Wheeljack’s comm unit.

_Thank you._

* * *

 

Sometimes Ratchet wondered how the hell Drift had managed to clean his flat so throughly, when it had taken both Rung and himself to get it anything resembling order. Then he’d sit and wonder at how quickly he’d managed to trash it again. Every datapad he pulled out was in the wrong order, if it was even put back on the shelf at all, and it took over an hour of hunting before he finally found the one he was looking for at the bottom of a pile under his desk.

He’d only needed to check one reference for a medical report, but it had taken what felt like the whole evening and he collapsed onto the couch with a huff as he onlined it, determined to at least get this one report finished. Work was really the only distraction he had from thinking about Drift, and if he didn’t sort himself out he was going to be looking for a new job pretty soon.

You couldn’t really fire the top doctor to the Prime, but you could sure as hell shove him in a room with paperwork until his hands rusted off.

The reference was easy to find, and just confirmed his suspicions that the brat he was treating was faking it. He put the note on his report, sent it to his office console and forwarded it to a colleague, a spark specialist called Lightcut who’d bought Ratchet a drink a few times on social work nights out. His patient would of course ask for a second opinion, and another, until he got the treatment he wanted, and Ratchet figured he might as well start the process early.

He was halfway through the referral when his apartment comm-unit went off, startling him enough that he dropped the ‘pad and nearly slipped off the sofa.

It was the one by the door, a non-video comm-unit that went solely to the receptionist and back. It was too late for a parcel to arrive even if he’d ordered anything in the last month, so he activated it warily, prepared for the worst.

“…Hello?”

“Doctor Ratchet, this is Warden from reception,” there were at least three doormen for this tower alone called Warden, not that Ratchet would ever mention it to any of them. Apparently names were rationed out amongst the working class. “If it’s not too much trouble, I need you to come down and confirm an identity for me.”

“Whose?”

“It uh, it says it’s your drone sir. Calls itself Drift, and has your ownership details, but for your safety I thought it best to check before allowing it up. Current political climate and all.”

It was a miracle Ratchet managed to stammer out a _‘be right down_ ’. He didn’t tell his feet to move, but somehow he found himself in the glass lift and then before he could think, he was walking into the shining reception area. Thankfully whatever was driving his body on autopilot was doing a very good job of making him look like he belonged, so the two lower nobles sat on the luxurious recliner in the corner only glanced his way, rather than glare at him directly.

It was amazing what the mind took notice of when he was in an almost state of shock; the reception was truly gleaming, off world materials inlaid into columns, glowing imported crystal bouquets, and hanging antique chandeliers lit the place beautifully. Artwork littered the walls and Ratchet had researched one once only to find the sketch of a somewhat ugly landscape cost more than he made in a vorn. It was no wonder that the residents liked to conduct casual business down here; the place gave off the aura of wealth that no apartments below the thirtieth floor could hope to achieve, and if he had to entertain a colleague or a very high end escort, then he’d probably be inclined to keep them here as well.

And in the middle of it all, standing awkwardly to the side of the reception desk, was Drift. Ratchet had once thought his bulky medic frame had been out of place in the room, but it was nothing compared to the state of his drone, caked in filth and dented on every panel. He almost looked worse than when Pharma has dumped him in his lap so long ago. It was no wonder the doorman had wanted him checked, because it was frankly a miracle the enforcers hadn’t been called, or Drift kicked immediately outside.

He congratulated himself for making his way to the desk without breaking into a run.

“Ah, Doctor Ratchet, this dro-“

“Yes. It’s mine. I reported it missing quite recently.” Drift didn’t look up and Ratchet stared just to the left of Warden’s shoulder in an effort to keep from doing something stupid. “Thank you for letting it in, I’ve been very concerned where it’d had uh, gone. Thought it stolen. You know the news recently.”

“Yes well uh, I’m glad it made it’s way back to you.” The doorman was quietly shuffling them out, clearly trying to get Ratchet and his filthy drone out of the pristine public area, and Ratchet was only too happy to be pushed. “Shall I notify the enforcers?”

“No need, I’ll sort that out myself. Thanks again.” He swallowed. His glossa felt thick in his mouth. “Come along Drift. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was torture to walk ahead and not look back, though he could hear Drift shuffling behind him. Already he was cataloguing the things he’d need to fix, and the slight grind of Drift’s left hip was currently top of the list.

_Remove the dents, possibly remove all the plating, check all his internals are fine. Hip needs fixing, and his hands look like they’re too full of muck to open fully, and I’ll need some nanite gel for those cuts on his face. Audials will need to be numbed before I straighten them. Energon in his seams but I don’t think it’s his, need to look at his feet, he’s walking too slowly…_

The constant train of thought kept him going, stopped him looking back, even as Drift shuffled into the lift next to him.

Back in his apartment, he walked through the door, locked it once Drift was inside, and stood in the middle of the room.

Outside it was dark, and he could see his reflection in the full length windows. He looked shell shocked, but behind him Drift hadn’t moved and Ratchet didn’t know what to do.

He just didn’t know what to do, or what to say. He was terrible at saying goodbyes, but apparently even worse at saying hello.

In the end, it was Drift who broke the silence.

“Master…”

“Don’t… don’t call me that.” He managed to turn to look at the drone, who still hadn’t moved from his spot by the door. “Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Before he could think what he was doing, Ratchet was stood in front of Drift, hands reaching out to touch, but he stopped just before he made contact, though the effort not to touch practically killed him.

It was Drift who took the extra step and shuffled closer, until Ratchet’s hand brushed his face. He still wouldn’t look up, but with permission granted, Ratchet brought his hand to Drift’s jaw, cupped his face and smoothed his thumb along his cheek. In the background his programming quietly noted that at least Drift’s face didn’t look damaged, just dirty.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I… I fragged up.”

That got a reaction, and Ratchet choked on his words when hard golden optics looked up to glare a him.

“No you didn’t! It was me!”

“What? No I left you there, if I’d looked after you better-“

“No one’s ever looked after me as good in my life! I shouldn’t have tried to push you!”

“I should’ve talked to you more!”

“I shouldn’t have run away! This is my fault!”

“The pit it is!” Without thinking, Ratchet grabbed Drift’s shoulder and pulled him in for a crushing hug. After a moment, warm arms came around his waist and hugged back, and they both stood together until they’d calmed down. “We both fragged up. Made mistakes.” Ratchet’s voice was quiet in Drift’s audial, and the reply was Drift hugging him even tighter. “We’ll do better this time.”

“Okay… I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too Drift.”

* * *

 

Eventually they unfurled from each other, and Ratchet dragged Drift into the washracks with two cubes of energon and a handful of washcloths.

“Sit, I…” They needed to talk things through, be clear with each other. “I want to wash you, so I can see what needs fixing and… And just know you’re really here?” It was hard to explain, but Drift nodded anyway and sat down, sipping at the cube Ratchet handed to him.

He had no idea what to do, and in the end settled on letting his medic coding do the job of interacting for him.

First things first. “Is this your energon?” He pointed at the smears of dark, dried pink staining Drift’s frame. He wasn’t sure he wanted either answer, but he steeled himself, put on his best ‘I’m Chief Medic to the Damn Prime’ face and waited.

Drift took an extra long sip of his cube, until Ratchet could see he was struggling not to choke on it. Drift answered before he could call him out on it.

“…No.” Well then.

“Do… I need to call an enforcer?”

No answer. Ratchet decided to try a different line of questioning. In his hands, the showerhead was finally gushing forth hot water, so like so many months ago, he sat behind Drift, and set to work on cleaning him top to bottom.

“Were they trying to hurt you?”

Under his hands Drift tensed, but relaxed as Ratchet forced water and solvent into the gaps down his spinal column. By their feet, dark grimy water pooled before swirling down the waste pipe.

“Yes.”

“Are they…” Flashes of the first and last time he’d seen Drift defend himself, defend _him_ , sprung to his mind. “Are they alive?”

“…No.” Oh.

Drift was tense again, so Ratchet stroked up and down his back with a cloth until the plating was white again, and Drift allowed himself to release the tightness of his armour.

“I’m… I’m glad you’re okay. Above all else, I’m happy you survived.”

“Mas- Ratchet?” Drift tried to turn, but Ratchet ignored him and continued to scrub him down.

“Whatever you needed to do to survive, I won’t judge you for it.” He hoped Drift understood that that went for _everything_ he knew the drone had been through. Drift was quiet, but somewhat relaxed, so Ratchet didn’t mention it again. “How was living with ‘Jack and Perceptor?”

It took a while for Drift to speak, and in the meantime Ratchet busied himself with shuffling around, to start working on cleaning Drift’s arms and hands. He had no idea what he’d been doing, but there was dirt literally caked inside and under the outer plating. Ratchet had seen cleaner waste disposal units.

“I don’t know. They’re nice, and they taught me a lot but…” He trails off, and Ratchet leaves him to it. “I missed you.” Ratchet forced himself not to pause his scrubbing, but he stroked down Drift’s back gently.

“I missed you too.”

They settled into an awkward silence, Drift moving when he was asked, and Ratchet tried not to notice when Drift would flinch every time he came across a new dent or scratch in his plating. One particularly long one, from his hip to thigh, held his attention for a while as he checked it wasn’t infected. Thankfully it was fine, and would heal easily enough with some nanites and self-repair, though it didn’t help Ratchet’s worries ease, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how it had happened. Most of Drift’s injuries seemed to be cosmetic at least, and as the grime was washed from joints and dents he didn’t look anywhere near as half-dead as he had in the lobby.

Ratchet gave Drift a cloth, and let him clean his own array while he turned to fiddle with the towels on the other side of the room. He glanced his somewhat underused cleaning supplies out of the corner of his optic. He’d give anything to have Drift relaxing under his hands while he worked the waxes in deep, but he just wasn’t sure if that would be too much right now. Drift probably needed some space, and the last thing Ratchet wanted was to start sending mixed signals. Again.

Ignoring the bottles, he chucked a towel to Drift, who caught it easily.

“You do your front, and I’ll do your back.” He tried to smile, but it must have looked terrible because Drift just frowned, though he got to work on his arms anyway. Ratchet was gentle as he rubbed the solvent from Drift’s back, careful around the scratches but he forced himself to be quick about it. It helped, slightly, to think of Drift as a patient, though it sent his ethical coding into a screaming mess if he thought too hard on it.

Drift was dry in record time, and Ratchet ran the towel over himself just enough that he wouldn’t drip all over the floor. And then they stood there, both entirely unsure what to do next.

“We should get some healing gel onto those scratches.” The grating in Drift’s hip had eased with the scrub down, but Ratchet still wanted to check it out when things weren’t so… Tense between them.

Drift just nodded, and followed Ratchet through to the dining room, where he stiffly sat on a chair while Ratchet dug out his supplies.

“Might sting a little, but it’ll be done with pretty quickly.” He sounded so much calmer than he felt.

Drift nodded, and didn’t move while Ratchet spread the gel over the deeper cuts, taking the chance to check Drift over inch by inch. He was dented almost everywhere, and his audials would definitely need painkillers to sort out, and he still wanted to do a full frame check, strip Drift down and look over every inch of protoform, until Ratchet had found and fixed even the most minor bruises. For now though, he massaged the salve into the cuts he could find, and hummed almost happily when the nanites immediately stuck and got to work.

The gel went on without a hitch, and Ratchet bandaged the few deeper cuts he needed to keep clean and practically forced Drift to take a handful of painkillers to see him through the night. He spent longer than necessary putting the tools away, just for something to do while Drift stared off into space.

It was late. They should sleep, but Ratchet had no idea what Drift would want their sleeping arrangements to be. But, they were trying to be more… vocal about things, so he coughed and waved roughly in the way of Drift’s old room.

“I haven’t moved any of your stuff out, so… You can sleep there tonight if you want some space, or uh…” Drift looked like he was almost in physical pain, with the way his optics brightened with panic and he rushed to stand up. “Or you can sleep with me.”

“You. Please?” Drift’s voice was barely a whisper, but Ratchet didn’t need to hear it to see the need in his optics and in his frame.

“Sure kid.” He waved a hand over his shoulder, beckoning Drift to follow him. Maybe if he acted like he used to, it would all be fine. “I uh…” He stood in the doorframe, looking at the mess of half opened boxes, old cubes and the tangle of blankets strewn across the berth and floor. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

Noticing he’d stopped, Drift stood close and peered behind him, and Ratchet flushed at the shocked _‘oh’_ that he barely heard.

“Maybe your room?” He didn’t want to invade Drift’s space, but if they wanted to sleep together, perhaps it was better than the sofa.

Drift hummed in agreement, and with a few steps they were in his room. It was exactly as Drift had left it, Ratchet had been unable to go inside and Rung hadn’t asked to enter either, so they’d quietly cleaned around it, putting Drift’s things in a box just inside the door. Drift didn’t waste a second at least though, and the soft smile when he turned the fairy-lights on was the happiest Ratchet had seen him all night. Ratchet left them on, but turned the main light off, so that all they could see of each other was the soft glow of their optics, and the dim twinkling lights dancing over their frames.

It was Drift now, who led, who was the first to wander over to the berth, and pull off the top duvet. The cloud of dust he shook off was embarrassing, but he didn’t say anything about Ratchet’s housekeeping skills, merely rearranged the pillows and throws until he’d built a perfect little nest for them to hide in. Once Drift was snuggled in, Ratchet finally moved from his place by the door, but not before grabbing one of the plush blankets he’d thrown in the box.

It was awkward, settling down next to Drift, and they both tried not to touch each other at first. Ratchet threw the plush blanket over the both of them, though after a moment’s hesitation, dragged it up to cover their helms, hiding them completely from the world. Now, only lit by the glow of their optics, Ratchet stared, transfixed and amazed that the mech he’d been longing for so badly had finally come back. It was surreal, and he didn’t want to recharge in case it was a dream.

“I missed you. _So much_.” He barely whispered, but there was no space between them and Drift easily caught the words. His smile in the dim light was captivating, and Ratchet found himself pushing closer. He’d have felt bad, if Drift hadn’t also wriggled until their chests were practically touching.

“I missed you too.” Soft hands breached the small gap between them, and Drift gently took Ratchet’s into his, clasping their fingers together in a firm lock. Ratchet couldn’t help it, he needed to be closer and he shifted until their hands were trapped between them, and his forehelm rested against Drift’s crest.

Maybe it was a dream, but together at last in their own little nest away from the world, Ratchet finally felt he might know peace.

* * *

 

Waking up was hard enough, but waking up smothered in blankets and a clingy drone was impossible. Every instinct screamed at him to snuggle in, return to sleep and damn the consequences, but he shoved them aside, and eventually managed to online his optics.

Drift stared back at him, and the jolt of shock was nothing compared to the sudden realisation that he wasn’t dreaming.

“You’re here?” His voice croaked static, vocaliser still not fully online.

“Looks like it.” Drift smiled softly and squeezed his hand; apparently they hadn’t stopped holding each other all night, or perhaps Drift had re-entwined their hands together when he woke, either way it was the perfect way to ground him into the present and prove he wasn’t dreaming.

“Looks like Wheeljack taught you to be a smart-mouth too.” He squeezed Drift’s hand back, while kicking off half the weight that had been dumped on him in the night; Drift loved the blankets, but their movement in the night had disturbed their nest, and Drift had clearly kicked them off himself and onto him.

“Nah, that was all you.” And gods but Drift’s smile made spark soar and his tanks flip. They needed to get up before Ratchet did something he’d regret, they were supposed to take this slow after all. But if they left their nest, he felt like the spell would be broken, that they’d be back to the awkward silences and wariness and Ratchet thought it might kill him.

“You hungry? Ah no, stay here, I’ll be right back.” Ratchet sat up, but when Drift tried to follow him he grabbed a blanket, and threw it over him. “Stay in bed, doctor’s orders.” Drift’s pouting face, peeking from the blanket, was the last thing he saw before he shut the door and stepped into the hallway.

It felt like a dream. In the room behind him was everything he wanted, and out here was cold and, frankly, dirty. He made it to the kitchen in record time, heated two cubes up, added the sprinkle of sweetener he knew Drift liked, and penned off a comm message to the university by the time he was back in the hall. He had a lecture in the afternoon, but hopefully his colleague could cover it. In return he’d probably be covering their next hangover but it was a small price to pay to spend the day in bed with Drift.

Drift who Ratchet found, upon opening the door, already tidying and dusting his room with a corner of the dusty sheet he’d taken off the bed last night.

“That’s not bed rest, come on, sit.” Drift at least didn’t complain, not when Ratchet handed him the cube and he took the first warm sip. While Drift drank, Ratchet rearranged the blankets again, settling one around Drift’s shoulders before wrapping one around himself and sitting down. The energon was good, better than the cold, bland cubes he’d been feeding himself recently, and he had to admit that the blankets were nice, even if he didn’t quite share Drift’s clear obsession with them.

This silence was comfortable. Ratchet wasn’t so stupid as to believe a single night spent together would fix their problems, but it was clearly a good start. His own dark mood was lifted, for now at least, and he was going to make the most of it. When his cube was finished, he scooted back on the berth to lie back against the pillows, and when Drift eyed him curiously, he patted the area next to him.

Drift mumbled something under his breath as he settled, but he was happy enough to shuffle back and curl against Ratchet’s broad frame, the blankets cocooning them individually and offering a sense of independence despite being so close. One arm escaped Ratchet’s blanket and tugged another blanket up to cover them, then pulled Drift’s curled up frame just that bit closer against him.

They needed to talk. Ratchet didn’t want to ruin the calm, but they _really_ needed to talk. He just had no idea where to start.

“I’m sorry I abandoned you.” Abandoned not set free, because it was clear how they both felt about it. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong.” It was easier to speak with Drift settled against him, safe but where he didn’t have feel Drift’s stare on him. “And this time I want to do the right thing, and the right thing is talking, except I’m not all that good at it.”

Next to him, Drift rolled over with some effort, so he was cuddled up into Ratchet’s chest. He could just make out the dim yellow light of Drift’s optics as he stared fixedly at Ratchet’s chest.

The number one thing on Drift’s mind was that Ratchet didn’t want him, so screw all the drone talk, they were going to have _this_ discussion right now.

“I don’t want to leave you again, I- I care too much about you. But we should really try from the start, if we want to uh, be together…” Frag but what if he’d misread and Drift didn’t want him, he wanted to punch hims-

“The start?” Drift glanced up, and all thought of violence evaporated at Drift’s confused face. He’d thought Drift beautiful before, but apparently absence made the bond grow stronger and Primus but it felt like he was looking at Drift with fresh optics. Drift’s confused pout was just… It was cute before, in the way a pet sometimes did cute things. But ever since the revelation and now, there hadn’t been much time for fun and… Drift would be the end of him, but gods he’d die happy.

He was in far too deep already. He wanted to reach the bottom.

“You remember your romance ‘pads right? Like, the _start_. Get to know each other, find out if we’re good together outside of the uh, the berthroom.”

“We know we are though.” If Ratchet didn’t know better, he’d swear Drift smirked at him. “And we definitely know we’re good in the berth. Right?”

“More than. We’re uh, if you’ve liked it all so far, then we’re golden.” Not the time, got to get to know each other. “But it’ll give us time, and space to get used to one another again. Make sure it’s what we want.”

“Mm.” Drift just mumbled, then thunked his head back down and wriggled closer as if it were even possible. Before Ratchet could question him, he got a sudden ping in his HUD, and to his relief confirmed that his colleague was a treasure.

“Well, I’ve got the day off. I vote we nap a bit more, then I’ll see about fixing up those cuts and your audials yeah?”

“Mmm.” It looked like Drift was already working on the first half of the plan without him. With a last rub against Drift’s back, Ratchet shuttered his optics and joined him.

* * *

 

“Okay we can clean up later, but first sit still.” Drift went rigid under his hands as Ratchet carefully applied the nano-gel again. He probably wouldn’t need a full soak in a regen-tank but there were enough minor cuts and bruises to see to to keep him busy. Cut after cut was covered, and then Ratchet rubbed it into some scrapes as well, just to be safe. A few days of good energon and rest and Drift would be fine, and then perhaps they could get some fresh air, but until then Ratchet was keeping him under lock and key.

He started with Drift’s audials, just to get the worst out of the way quickly. With Drift braced against the table, Ratchet gave a soft apology, and _tugged_ until they were straight enough for self-repair to see to. Drift squeaked, and his hands threatened to dent the table, but he didn’t move an inch, instead melting into the touch when Ratchet stroked his head apologetically.

“Good, that was great Drift. The rest should be easy.”

He checked along the spinal column, checked each plate moved properly and was free of any dirt, until he reached Drift’s shoulder and then his neck.

He still wore the red collar Ratchet had bought him. It was a little worse for wear now, but clearly hadn’t been touched since Ratchet had put it on, and he winced when he touched it and Drift flinched away.

“I need to take it off.” He remembered that Drift was attached to it, felt safer and cared for with it on apparently, but it really did need to come off, if only to clean it. “You can have it back once I’ve cleaned it and checked your neck, okay?”

A resigned nod, and Ratchet unbuckled it, noting the new suppleness to it from being worn so long. He placed it on the table, within Drift’s view, and gently set to work checking Drift for any damage. There wasn’t any, but he hadn’t been as thorough with their wash the other night as he’d thought, and ended up using a cloth and some warm solvent to dab away at old grease stains and dust.

Under his hand, Drift had gone completely still, but his soft moan as Ratchet tweaked a cable back into place suggested what he was thinking about.

“Everything looks fine, but we still need to wash your collar.” He didn’t pull away immediately, but gently stroked Drift’s throat before letting his hand drop. He went to get to the sink, only to stop short at the stack of old cubes and glasses there. “I’ll uh… Okay. _Okay_ I’ll wash up.” It was spoken more to himself, and with a noise of disgust he pulled out the stack of dirty cubes from the sink and dumped them on the side. He had to wash the sink out twice before he felt it might be clean enough to use.

While he was finding a cloth, Drift appeared at his side, dry towel in hand while he stood by the draining board. Well, at least he had help.

* * *

 

They ended up spending the rest of the day in bed, only leaving to get fuel, and eventually Ratchet came back with Drift’s dry collar. It was painful how excited he got when he saw it, how eager Drift was to turn and sit still as Ratchet locked it around his neck, but Ratchet didn’t say a word, just wrapped them both up in blankets again and laid back.

Drift immediately snuggled in, clearly no longer tense now that his collar was back, and Ratchet hugged him back, and tried to convince himself he wasn’t awful for thinking Drift looked good in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so yeah I'm not dead anymore, except I kind of am but whatever. This chapter was written maybe two weeks ago, and edited today, and fuck man but I'm hoping this hurdle is over and we can get back to plot and happy stuff and hey the kinky sex was fun too, we should work towards that...
> 
> I don't really have anything else to add? It's been a hectic 6 months, I've moved out from my parents properly and hAAA my god, and my plushie sewing stuff is taking up a lot of time? But I'm trying to carve out time to write more, and I'm throwing one shots around tumblr to get back in the writing groove, and hey it looks like it's working because this chapter finally exists after 6 goddamn months.
> 
> Also I'm not sure, if you read this fic in one go, that it feels like Drift's been gone long enough? But god fuck that shit I want him back we've all suffered enough.
> 
> Can't promise when the next chap will be, but also read with the sure comfort that this fic isn't abandoned, I have Too Much Great stuff happening in future chapter to stop >:D
> 
> ALSO god fucking, thank you all so much for the comments and support, esp while I've been having os much trouble with this fic. I'm not usually in the right head space to reply to people (in the same way many ppl aren't always in the right head space to comment, social interaction of any sort is exhausting yo) but god your comments have kept me and this fic alive, so I lit can't say thank you enough :'D

**Author's Note:**

> I am utterly /terrible/ at replying to comments btw, but thank you all so much for them, they really are the main encouragement and motivation i get for writing, so thank you! :'D


End file.
